Roughnecks in Love
by Archer.Rose
Summary: AU. Roughneck Santana is hired by the law firm Sylvester, Bieste, and Schuester to play in the annual Dallas Law Association softball tournament where she meets lawyer Brittany.  Fun, romance and a bit of drama ensue.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: Don't own the show nor am I affiliated with it in any fashion, unfortunately.

Chapter One

Sue Sylvester was at the top of her game. Founder and controlling partner of the winningest, most aggressive and ruthless (she prided herself on the ruthless) law firm in Dallas, Texas, she approached all things as a contest to be won. Competition made her blood rush; it was the reason she woke up before dawn, donned one of many dark, immaculately-tailored power suits, and ran her firm with an iron fist. Just the name _Sylvester,__Bieste,__and__Schuester_ struck fear and awe in the hearts of seasoned lawyers and rookies alike. Life was an elaborate game filled with winners and losers, and Sue Sylvester was a winner. She did not lose. Ever.

On a bright, Monday morning, Sue sat behind a large dark mahogany desk, eyeglasses sitting low on her nose and a draw sheet in one hand. She reviewed the paper intently, cursing under her breath as she followed the brackets. She punched the intercom button on her phone. "Becky! Get Schuester and Bieste in here ASAP!"

"Right away, Ms Sylvester!"

The imposing blonde picked up another sheet with a list of all the lawyers and interns working for her firm. She threw her glasses on the desk in disgust. Nothing but overweight old men, fragile, uncoordinated nerds, women much too concerned about their manicures and overly pampered skin, and one guy in a wheelchair.

There was a timid knock on her office door.

"Come!" she called out briskly, leaning back in her large wingback chair and propping her legs up on the edge of her desk.

Shannon Bieste and Will Schuester entered the office quietly and took seats across the imposing figure. Neither spoke, overly familiar with how Sue ran things. Although their names graced the office walls, albeit under and in lettering two-sizes smaller than "Sylvester," the two senior partners held no illusions about who was in charge.

After a long, increasingly uncomfortable silence—Sue never missed an opportunity to exert her power over the pair—the commanding blonde finally spoke. "What are we doing about _this_?" she asked coldly, flinging the draw sheet at the two lawyers.

Will picked it up and looked it over with Bieste leaning in at his side. He sighed when he finally figured out why they were summoned. The annual, Dallas Law Association softball tournament was upcoming and he was not looking forward to the added stress she was about to place on the firm.

"Sue," Will started cautiously, "we're in the middle of a really big class action lawsuit. We really don't have the time to focus on this kind of thing now. Let's just go out there and have fun. It's about team-building anyway."

"Nonsense," she scoffed. She kicked her legs off the desk, stood and leaned forward, her palms flat against the polished wood. "See, this is the difference between you and me, William," she said slowly. "Where you see distraction, I see opportunity. Now please, remind me, what place did we come in last year?"

"It was a very respectable third. We made it to the playoff games at least," he responded.

"I think for the amount of practice we had, that was pretty darn good," Shannon offered.

"Third!" Sue admonished, continuing to glare at the two partners. "The number one law firm in the state, the _state_, and we came in third! How does that look to potential clients? Or potential new recruits? I want winners!"

"Sue, I really don't think-" Will was cut off abruptly.

"Call an emergency meeting in the large conference room. I want every associate, intern, paralegal, barista, and maintenance man in there in five." She sat back down and picked up another stacks of papers. When neither Bieste nor Schuester moved, she looked up pointedly. "You're dismissed."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

_Sylvester, __Bieste, __and __Schuester_ was a mid-size law firm for Dallas, employing about 20 lawyers at any given time. Adding in all of the additional workers, however, their largest conference room was so overfilled that many of their employees were left standing shoulder-to-shoulder around the edges of the room. Junior associates Quinn Fabray, Kurt Hummel, Mercedes Jones, Artie Abrams, and Brittany Pierce were high-level enough to earn places around the immense table across from Bieste, Schuester and the rest of the upper-ranking attorneys.

Sue entered a full ten minutes after she told the team to arrive, taking the oversized chair at the head of the table and sizing up exactly what she had to work with. She laced her fingers together and leaned forward on her elbows.

"I have just received some distressing news," she began seriously. "I have been reviewing payroll and it seems this firm only employs geriatrics, fatties, sissies, and the less than able-bodied." She cocked her head at Artie who swallowed visibly.

"Sue!" Will cut in.

"Not now, William. And if you're wondering, I still haven't decided what category you fill at the moment. I'd like to call your attention to the screen." Suddenly the lights dimmed and a graphic of the tournament brackets appeared on the far wall. There was a collective groan before Sue's glare silenced the room.

"I need not remind you of the _embarrassment_ of last year's showing. I do _not_ intend to lose again." She picked up a laser pointer and used the red dot to circle their first opponent: _Ben __Israel_, _Tanaka, __and __Ryerson_. "As you can see, we open with what should be a cakewalk, but looking around the room now," she gestured broadly with her hands, "I'm not so sure."

After a pointed pause that made everyone fidget and shuffle around anxiously, she continued, "but our greatest threats come in the fourth and fifth rounds, right before the playoffs." She drew red trails under the names _Figgins __and __Associates_, and _Corcoran __and __St. __James_. "I don't need to remind all of you what Corcoran did to us last year," she growled. Not only had they beat them in the first playoff game; they also stole (at least in Sylvester's mind) a large client that Sue had been personally pursuing. She still seethed at the losses, her anger fueling her drive to win the tournament this year.

"Lights," she called out to Becky who flipped a switch that illuminated the room once again. "So, I'm opening the floor to ideas. I expect us to emerge victorious. There is no second place. There is no losing. So what's our plan?"

"We could increase practices. Make them mandatory," Bieste offered. There was another groan at her suggestion.

"I like it. Strict, disciplined practices daily. What else?" Sue said quickly, unmoved by the mumbles of disapproval. After a lengthy silence, she leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table and daring her employees to meet her chilling stare. When she spoke again, her voice was low and menacing. "I cannot believe the collective brain power of the most successful law firm in Texas cannot come up with a single strategy to win a simple softball tournament." She shook her head. "I'm beginning to think I've been overpaying for your services."

"We could hire someone," Artie interjected hesitantly. "Someone who's really good, and maybe he could help carry the team."

Sue picked up her eyeglasses and chewed on the end. "A ringer," she said slowly, pulling the glasses from her lips and pointing it towards Artie. "Fantastic idea, Wheels."

"It's Artie-"

"We need new blood. Someone who can handle themselves on the field and maybe whip this sorry mass of flab into shape." There was a glint in Sue's eyes that made everyone in the room shudder. She rubbed her chin slowly.

"Um," Will began, "I don't think that's appropriate, Sue. It's certainly not in line with the spirit of the game, and I'm sure it's against the rules."

"Not necessarily," Quinn piped up. "As long as we employed them in the office somehow, it should adhere to all the eligibility requirements."

"Outstanding, Fabray. Now, all we have to do is find this ringer. Suggestions!" she demanded.

Kurt raised his hand.

"Porcelain, go!" Sue directed.

"We could stake out ballparks or colleges. Maybe find some college athlete that's willing to make a few extra bucks."

"This is _not_ a dating opportunity. The ringer can't be too obvious. Next!"

From the back of the room, Rachel Berry's hand shot up. "Barbra, go!"

"We could put an ad on Craigslist. I have it on good authority that the internet abounds with any number of odd or unsavory requests, so ours would probably not raise any suspicions, and in this current economic climate I am sure there is an overabundance of potential athletic talent out there just waiting to be snapped up and thrust into the exciting, and cutthroat world of-"

"Okay, okay, we get the idea." Sue waved her hand around dismissively. "Your naiveté and lung capacity is astounding. But trolling the depths of the internet is not something this firm will engage in. We are not pinning our victory on some meth-brewing, basement-dwelling, out of work escort. Again, this is not a dating opportunity. Next!"

Quinn sighed. She had a desk piled high with case files and past due paperwork waiting for her and all of this scheming was a supreme waste of time. She really didn't want to get involved and she really, _really_ didn't want to involve her friend, but she needed this meeting to end to save her sanity. Reluctantly, she spoke up. "I know someone."

Sue raised an eyebrow at her, implicitly encouraging her to continue.

Quinn sighed heavily. "She's an overall great athlete and I'm sure she'd be a gold star softball player." She smirked at her own inside joke.

"She? A woman." Sue tapped her lips with her index finger. "Genius, Fabray! There's nothing better than using the inherent sexism that plagues the industry to our advantage. No one would think that a ringer would be female. She wouldn't happen to be East German would she?" Sue turned steely eyes to Quinn.

Mercedes looked down the table at Sue, confused. "Hasn't it just been Germany since like 1988?"

"That was nothing but a great vandalism perpetrated by a bunch of hippie hooligans and miscreants. The falling of that wall was a global travesty," Sue replied, shaking her head.

"Well, she's not any kind of German," Quinn responded. "She's Hispanic, if it matters."

"A fiery Latina, huh?" Sue bit the end of her glasses once again. "Promising. Okay," she slapped her hands on the table, causing the room to jump back startled. "Fabray, get on the phone now. I want to meet this ringer today." Quinn stood and exited the conference room. Sue turned her eyes to the group. "I want each of you to get a personal profile to Becky by the end of the day. I want height, weight, body fat percentages, former or current experience with individual or team sports—disco does not count, Porcelain—and a copy of your latest vision exam. Softball boot camp starts tomorrow with a physical fitness test. Junior and senior associates stay put," Sue continued. "The rest of you get out of my face, and try not to eat anything for the rest of the day."

When Quinn returned, only a dozen people remained. She took her seat and looked up to see everyone staring at her expectedly. She sighed. "I couldn't reach her, but I got her mom. She said she was out playing basketball but should be reachable in an hour or so." She shrugged.

"Outstanding. Where's the game?" Sue inquired.

"Probably at the public courts on Harrington and 8th."

"Well what are we waiting for? Saddle up people!"

"Wait, what? We're going down to the basketball courts?" Quinn asked.

"Of course! This is the perfect opportunity to assess her athleticism and see if she's worth our time. Will, Bieste, you're with me." Sue stood and walked out without another word.

Quinn blew out an exasperated breath. "Come on, Britt. We better get out there." She pulled the tall woman's arm and tugged her out of the conference room with her.

"Why do I have to go?" Brittany whined. "Quinn, I've got a big case I need to get back to and-." At the other woman's hazel glare, the tall blonde's shoulders slumped and she resigned herself to being dragged out on this little reconnaissance mission.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

After a quick drive to the local park, Quinn, Brittany, Sue, Will, and Shannon stepped out of their vehicles and walked down a short hill towards the basketball courts. There were two courts, each enclosed by a high fence, but only one was in use at the time. The group stood next to a small set of bleachers just outside the cage, eager to catch sight of their potential ringer.

She was actually easy to spot. She was the shortest person on the court and the only woman. Brittany was actually a little frightened for her at first as all of the men towered over the small woman. It looked to be an intense game of three on three. Brittany's breath caught suddenly as the tiny brunette bumped a giant of a man on the hip and stole the ball, streaking down court before leaping up into a perfectly executed layup. _Damn_.

"You may have just earned yourself a raise, Fabray," Sue informed the small blonde.

All eyes were on the young woman on the court who turned towards her teammates and thumped her chest with a fist before throwing a dazzling, pearly white smile at the guys jogging up to her. Brittany swore her heart stopped beating at the sight.

The petite basketballer was beautiful, her dark bronze skin glistening with sweat under the blazing sun. She had long, dark hair pulled back into a ponytail with a blue handkerchief tied tightly around her head, keeping the long strands from blinding her as she moved. She wore a black sports bra and long mesh shorts that fell below her knees. All of her teammates were bare-chested and Brittany assumed she must have fallen into the skins side of a shirts and skins game. The girl's stomach muscles twisted and tensed as she jockeyed with one of the opposing players, pushing a bare shoulder into his chest. For the first time ever, Brittany actually found herself looking forward to the upcoming softball tournament.

After only about another ten minutes the game was over and the players bumped chests and clasped hands jovially. Their potential ringer chugged a bottle of Gatorade, and grabbed a towel from her duffel bag. She pulled on a tight tank top before slinging the bag over her shoulder. The brunette elbowed a muscular, mohawked boy in the chest, cocking her head towards a group of girls sitting in the grass. The two friends made their way over to the group and the brunette plopped down next to a cute blonde in a pretty pink sundress. The sweaty basketballer whispered something into the girl's ear and she giggled, shoving the other woman playfully on the shoulder. The two women stood and the brunette grabbed the girl's hand, leading her up the hill to the parking lot, leaving Mohawk and two other girls lounging in the grass.

"Yo, Lopez!" Quinn bellowed, startling Brittany who had become entranced by the scene.

The brunette turned at her name. When the girl met Quinn's eyes, Brittany was blinded by her full smile once again. The dark-haired woman held up a finger to her companion, gesturing her to stay put before jogging over to their group.

"Quinny!" she cried out, picking the attorney up in her strong arms and spinning her around.

"Ugh, Lopez, you're all sweaty!" Quinn exclaimed, pushing against the other woman's shoulders.

The brunette set the other girl on her feet, making sure to rub her wet face against Quinn's.

"Gross! You suck!"

"Serves you right for being such a stranger, Fabray," her broad grin taking the sting out of her words. "God, it's been too long! How'd you find me here anyway?"

"I called your mom. The number I had for you was no longer in service."

"Yea," the athlete said bashfully. "Had to change a few numbers for, you know, personal reasons." Even through her dark complexion, Brittany could make out a faint blush to the girl's cheeks. She was really cute.

Quinn scoffed. "Why do I think it has something to do with you being unable to keep it in your pants, Lopez?"

The other girl just shrugged and grinned. "So last I heard you were picked up by some big time law firm, raking in the big bucks."

It was Quinn's turn to blush. "Yea, about that, that's actually why we're here," she gestured back to the group of suits behind her.

The young basketball player finally took in the people surrounding Quinn. She scanned their professional attire and swallowed hard.

"Oh shit, I'm not getting sued am I? I swear to God Quinn, I didn't know she was married! She came on to me and I swear I ended it as soon as I found out. Fuck!" she said in a rush.

"What? No, no, you're not getting sued. Calm down." Quinn took a deep breath and ran a hand through her hair. "These are my colleagues and we actually have a proposition for you, you got a minute?"

"Um," the brunette looked over her shoulder to the blonde she left behind. "I kinda got my hands full right now. Or at least I hope to anyway," she winked at Quinn. "Can we get together at like," she thought for a second, "six?"

"That's four hours from now!" Quinn replied, exasperated. "You can't possibly need four hours to-." She looked up into a saucy grin and glittering brown eyes. "Never mind. I don't want to know. Six, then?"

"Great! Let's meet at Joe Jack's."

"Alright," the attorney sighed in defeat. "Don't be late."

"See you then, Quinny!" she pulled the attorney into another damp embrace before taking off towards the girl in the sundress, picking her up and kissing her hard on the lips. When she set the girl down, Brittany could see the pink heat on the blonde's cheeks and the girl's heavy breathing. She felt an unfamiliar flutter in the pit of her stomach.

"Guess we got a date at six," Quinn said, turning back to the group with a shrug.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Back in Quinn's BMW X3, Brittany fiddled with her fingers in her lap. She was nervous and she didn't quite know why. She turned in her seat to look at Quinn. "So that's your friend?" she asked as nonchalantly as she could.

"Yea, that was Santana."

_Santana_. Brittany rolled the name around in her head. _Santana_. She nodded to herself. She liked it. It fit the beautiful brunette. "So, how do you know her?" Brittany turned to look out the window, trying to appear uninterested.

Quinn smiled, getting temporarily lost in her memories. "Our families are actually really close and we basically grew up together. We went to the same schools until Santana dropped out when she was 14."

That caught Brittany's attention. "She dropped out? Why?"

Quinn's grip on the wheel tightened. "Well, Santana's really smart, but school stuff just didn't keep her interest. She gets bored easily and a bored Santana is trouble." Quinn turned to the tall blonde and smiled. Her smile faltered though when she started speaking once again. "Then she started getting into fights every day, like real, bloody brawls, and I guess her mom got sick of her being pulled out of classes and getting suspended all the time."

Brittany's brow furrowed. She replayed the image of the smiling, carefree-seeming woman in her head. "She doesn't seem like much of a fighter. What were the fights about?"

Quinn gave a quick chuckle. "You don't know Santana. She can be really hot-headed and she doesn't back down for anything. Most of what she got into was because of the gay thing though. Honestly, I don't think it would've been half as bad if she would've just stayed away from the jocks' girlfriends. But Santana never could say no to a pretty face."

Brittany mulled over the information she was receiving. She didn't quite know why, but the striking brunette piqued her curiosity. There was just something about her that drew the blonde in. She jumped a bit when Quinn continued speaking, pulling her out of her thoughts.

"So when she was 14, her mom let her leave school and spend her days with her uncle. He was a roughneck with one of the bigger oil rigs in Dallas. She took to it real quick and has been working on a rig ever since."

"She's a roughneck?" Brittany exclaimed, surprise evident in her voice and wide eyes. Sure, Santana looked strong and well-muscled, but those rigs were _so_ big. Brittany had only ever seen one from a distance, its scaffolding and large metal pipes towering up into the sky. She couldn't imagine what the tiny woman would be doing on one of those dirty, metal beasts out in the middle of the Texas desert. Although, the more she thought about it, the more she tried to envision the beautiful girl covered in grease and sweat, and working with heavy machinery, the faster her heart raced and the hotter her cheeks burned.

"Britt, are you okay?" Quinn asked, concerned. When she glanced over at the tall blonde and she saw bright red patches creeping up the other girl's neck and cheeks.

Brittany ducked her head, embarrassed by her unexpected thoughts. She cleared her throat nervously. "Yea, I'm fine. Just too much sun, I guess."

Quinn reached over and adjusted the AC for her.

"So do you think she'll agree to play for us?" Brittany asked once she composed herself again.

"Heh, San's super competitive and she loves sports, so I think she'll do it if she can make it work with her schedule. Her work's not exactly nine to five, Monday through Friday."

Brittany nodded. "Well, I hope she does. Lord knows we could use it. Last year was awful and now that we don't have Keith and Ben, I think we're pretty much sunk. I do _not_ want to face Sue if we lose again."

"You're telling me," Quinn agreed, trembling a bit at the thought of an enraged Sue Sylvester.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Joe Jack's was a typical Texas honky-tonk bar that catered to the roughnecks and other blue collar workers who lived and worked nearby. It was loud, divey, and cheap; everything the hardworking laborers were looking for after a long, arduous day. The bar was actually quite large with a long, wooden bar in the back and several sets of wobbly tables arranged around the floor. Up to the left there was another raised area with more seating, two pool tables, and a set of dart boards hanging on the wall.

When the gang from _Sylvester, __Bieste, __and __Schuester _arrived, the place was jumping, a loud, country tune blaring from the jukebox and boisterous voices filling the space. Kurt and Mercedes had decided to join the original group who had watched the basketball game, and they had to pull a couple of tables together to make room for everyone.

Sue tapped her fingers impatiently on the scuffed wood surface of their table. "I do _not_ like to be kept waiting, Fabray."

Quinn glanced at her watch. "It's not even six yet." At Sue's glare, she assured her, "she'll be here."

Just as Sue was readying to say something about punctuality and her body clock being perfectly adjusted to Greenwich Mean Time, the roughneck entered and Quinn waved her over.

Santana had changed into a pair of tight, skinny jeans that hung low on her hips. She wore a blue, checkered shirt that she tied off at the waist, exposing well-toned abs that rippled as she moved towards the group. She cast a stunning smile at them and Brittany had to look away, sudden heat making her skin flush. _What__'__s __wrong __with __me?_

"Hey guys! Been waiting long?" Santana asked as she took a seat next to Quinn, ruffling the small blonde's hair playfully.

Quinn batted her hands away and rolled her eyes. "Just sit, Lopez. Let me introduce everyone."

Santana leaned back in her chair. She scanned the group carefully. They were certainly an intimidating bunch in their dark suits and perfectly coiffed hair. Quinn introduced Sue and the founding partners first, each nodding towards Santana at their name. When her friend gestured to the tall, long-haired blonde next to her, the corner of Santana's lips raised into a sexy half grin. _Hot_. She met brilliant blue eyes and lingered. As if from a distance, she heard the name "Brittany" uttered and filed the information away for later.

Quinn had moved on to introduce Kurt and Mercedes but the roughneck had tuned her out.

The woman beside Quinn was gorgeous. Her long blonde hair fell in soft waves around her face, settling delicately on her shoulders. Santana took in the adorably freckled nose, the slightly pouty lips, and the impossibly long neck that was turning increasingly red under her gaze. Like her peers, the blonde was dressed smartly in a dark blue blazer, modest skirt, and buttoned down white blouse. The shirt was open at the neck and Santana traced the long column down to the edge of the blouse, catching the other girl swallowing hard. When she moved up to the woman's eyes once again, Santana turned on her most charming smile and gave her a quick wink.

Brittany knew she was blushing profusely, but she kept up her polite smile until Santana's eyes left hers to move on to the rest of the table. Brittany exhaled slowly, trying to calm her rapidly beating heart.

"So what's this all about?" Santana started. "If I'm not getting sued, which I'm totally happy about by the way, why are y'all here?" She waved a scantily clad waitress over. "Mind if I grab a beer?" she asked, not waiting for a response. The waitress was at her side in an instant and Santana threw an around the buxom girl's waist.

"The usual, Santana?" she asked with a flirty smile.

"That would be perfect, beautiful," Santana replied, grinning up at the girl and patting her playfully on the butt as she moved on to take orders from the rest of the table.

When the waitress made it to Sue, the menacing attorney began grilling the poor girl about German lagers and Belgium wheats, and admonishing the "domestic swill" they had on tap. Bieste and Schuester tried to step in and corral Sue before the young woman burst into tears.

Quinn shook her head at the scene and decided to take control of the conversation and just cut to the chase.

"Look, Santana," she started. "We have kind of an unusual proposal for you. See every year law firms from all over Dallas compete in this big softball tournament. It's basically for bragging rights and, well, we didn't do so great last year. Sue," the two friends raised their eyes up just in time to see Sue storm off after the fleeing barmaid with Will and Shannon fast on her heels. Quinn shook her head. "Sue's got it in her head that in order to be the best firm in Dallas we have to be the best in _all_ things. Softball included. Unfortunately, we're not a very athletic bunch."

"Preach, girl," Kurt interjected.

"And we need some help." Quinn paused, looking up into confused brown eyes. "We want you to join our team and maybe help out during practices so we can win the tournament." She sighed. It sounded ridiculous and unless you knew Sue Sylvester it probably seemed like a completely insane idea.

"You want me to play softball with you?" Santana asked slowly, not completely understanding what was happening.

"I know how it sounds." Quinn took a quick look around to see the founding partners now engaged in some kind of dispute with the bartender. "Look, Sue's kind of a nut. I mean she's brilliant and an amazing lawyer but she's kind of a loose cannon when it comes to competitions. We need to win this thing and we need you to do that."

"Please," Brittany said, reaching across Quinn to grab Santana's arm. "We're really awful."

Santana looked up into bright, sapphire eyes, her forearm tingling under the heat of Brittany's hand.

"Like totally inept," Mercedes jumped in.

"Like newborn foals learning to walk in a gravel quarry." Everyone turned confused eyes on Kurt. "What?" he shrugged.

Brittany remained leaning forward awkwardly, eyes caught in Santana's gaze, her hand on the soft, smooth skin of the roughneck. She didn't remember making a conscious decision to do so, but she found her fingers rubbing the girl's arm gently.

Santana's skin shivered under the contact, tiny goose bumps appearing in the wake of Brittany's fingertips. The roughneck shook her head, finally breaking the other girl's stare. "Wait, is this like legal and stuff?"

Quinn leaned forward, forcing Brittany to release the Santana's arm reluctantly. "There's no like law against it. It's not necessarily something the tournament allows and we certainly can't tell anyone you're a hired gun, so to speak, but you won't get in trouble or anything. You will have to become part of the payroll, though. So we'd need to hire you as a temporary worker and you'd have to put in a couple hours a week at the office."

Kurt jumped in to clarify. "Artie worked out that you'd have to put in at least ten hours a week. But we'd pay you, of course."

"Wait," Santana turned to Quinn. "Your law firm is like really going to hire me? Quinn," she leaned in to her friend and lowered her voice, "you know I don't really have the…_education_ for something like that, right?" Santana was a proud person, and she was especially proud of all she had achieved at 25. But surrounded by this group of incredibly accomplished professionals, she couldn't help feeling a little self-conscious and a little bit embarrassed about her lack of formal education.

But Quinn dismissed the thought quickly. "It's not like that. You'd basically be doing gopher work—getting coffee, setting up conference rooms, maybe a little light filing. It's not glamorous, but we'd pay you twenty bucks an hour for it."

"Holy shit, no way!" Santana exclaimed, her eyes wide at the thought of raking in so much for doing so little.

Quinn smiled at her friend. "So is that a yes?" she asked hopefully.

Santana leaned back and rubbed her chin. "I assume these games are on the weekends?"

"Saturdays," Quinn confirmed.

"And I could come in whenever to put in the ten hours?"

"Sure," Quinn shrugged, "as long as someone's in the office to verify your hours. But we have pretty broad schedules. There's usually at least one person there from at least six in the morning to ten at night."

Sue, Will and Shannon had finally extracted themselves from the bar and were making their way back to the table, a hulking, heavily tattooed barback following with a tray of drinks, the curvy barmaid having been moved out of their section.

Once everyone was seated and all eyes were on the roughneck, Santana retrieved her beer and replied, "Alright. I'm in."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thanks for reading. I hope you liked it. If you have the chance, please review. I'd love to hear what you think. Also, if you're interested in a non-AU story, check out my other one, "The Quarterback" (.net/s/7277285/1/The_Quarterback). Just a warning though, it's Santana-centric and involves her with an OC. But Brittana's always on, of course.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: Don't own the show nor am I affiliated with it in any fashion, unfortunately.

Chapter Two

Santana woke before dawn Tuesday morning. She and her crew worked the six to six shift Tuesdays through Fridays on the _Intrepid __Miner_. Although they were long, hard days, it was considered the most desirable shift because it gave the roughnecks their nights and weekends free. She yawned broadly, her jaw cracking with the exaggerated movement. She rolled out of bed and shuffled into her en suite bathroom, scratching her belly underneath her undershirt.

Santana Lopez fucking loved her job. When she was 14 and first gazed up at the metal behemoth, she was instantly hooked. Everything about being a roughneck seemed so badass and awesome. The crew moved like the well oiled machine they occupied, and Santana marveled at how the workers handled the long lengths of pipe and expertly wielded the thick chains used to fasten them together. She made the decision that very first day that she was going to be a roughneck, and a day didn't go by that she wasn't grateful for the job she had and the life it allowed her to live.

The determined brunette had been with the _Intrepid_ ever since, and it was her seniority with that particular operation that allowed her team to get the coveted day shift. Even though she was only 25, she was the most seasoned person on the rig who wasn't a driller and she had been with the company the longest.

Traditionally, drillers earned their jobs through years spent first as greenhorns, then roughnecks or motorhands before finally being promoted and moving off of the more physical work to operate the drilling and hoisting equipment. Their own driller, Ed, who everyone just called "Pops," had been working on a rig for more than 20 years and those years were written all over his body, particularly in the jagged scar snaking down his left cheek, and the missing index and middle fingers of his right hand. This was body-bruising, often disfiguring and at times lethal work, and Santana knew she was lucky for having worked as long as she had with only a few pale white scars crisscrossing up her forearms, and thick, calloused fingertips and coarse palms to indicate the kind of work she did.

After washing her face and brushing her teeth, Santana threw on a faded black t-shirt and layered it with a thick, flannel button up. Although it'd get up to the high 90s later in the day, Santana knew her shift would start in a predawn chill. She pulled on a pair of loose blue jeans that were worn and frayed at the knees and ankles, and covered her feet in thick cotton socks. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she retrieved a scuffed pair of steel-toed work boots and laced them up quickly. After one last look around her room for anything else she might need, Santana stood, grabbed a duffel bag that contained a change of clothes, and made her way out into the early morning darkness.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Along with Pops, Santana worked with three other roughnecks and their toolpusher or rig manager Monty. Monty spent most of his time in the air-conditioned, tech-ed out trailer, though, letting his team do what they did best with little interference. Santana considered her entire crew family. She'd been working with Monty and Pops for eight years, and she'd known roughneck Noah Puckerman for most of her life, having gone to school with him long before he joined her crew five years ago. Relative newbies Finn Hudson and Mike Chang had been with her for the last three years, but even in that short time she had formed a close bond with the boys. Santana had trained all of them, and although they were all the same age, she couldn't help feeling protective of her roughnecks. They were her brothers and they took care of each other on the rig and off.

It was fifteen minutes before six when Santana pulled her white, 2008 Dodge Ram into the lot and parked next to Puckerman's beat-up 1995 Chrysler Concorde. The Concorde had certainly seen better days and the mohawked boy didn't really put the time and money into keeping the vehicle looking sharp. As long as the hunk of junk ran, he was happy. Santana, on the other hand, loved her truck. It was her pride and joy and she spared no expense making sure her baby purred like a kitten and sparkled under the Texas sun. She kissed her fingertips and tapped them gently on the hood of her truck before making her way to Monty's trailer to check in.

Santana found the toolpusher leaning against his metal trailer smoking a cigarette and pulled up next to him, grabbing a pack of American Spirits from the front pocket of her flannel shirt, tapping one out and bringing it to her lips. She leaned back, shoulder to shoulder with Monty, lighting her cigarette and taking a long, slow drag.

"Morning, Lopez," Monty greeted after a quiet moment.

"Morning," she nodded back.

"Gave any more thought to drilling? I could really use you with John's crew. Bunch of greenhorns that need a good ass kicking and some discipline. I know you got it in ya seeing as how you pulled this sorry bunch together. Puck can take over lead roughneck with this group and I'll switch them to graveyard so you get to keep the day shift. Comes with a hefty raise."

Santana took another long pull off her cigarette, feeling the familiar burn in her throat and lungs. She exhaled long plumes of smoke through her nose, the nicotine-tingle rushing through her body. It was the same old argument every week. Monty had been wanting her to move positions for years. He first offered her driller three years ago and took every opportunity since to try and convince her.

Driller was a cush job, at least as cush as a job on the rig platform could get, and it paid super well. To many, it was considered a reward for their hard work and dedication to the industry. It just wasn't for Santana. At least not at this point in her life.

She turned to Monty and grinned. "You ever get tired of saying the same old thing week after week?" she asked.

The toolpusher shook his head and returned her smirk. "Nah. When you deal with cocky, mule-headed, roughnecks all day, you learn the value of patience and persistence."

She scoffed at the accuracy of his description. "I'm too young to be a driller. I'll get fat and lazy like Pops if I move positions," she teased, both knowing how much she loved and respected the old driller. "I got too much energy in me yet. Besides," she took a last drag before snuffing the cigarette out in the dirt and tossing the butt into a nearby coffee can. "You gotta be out of your mind if you think I'm leaving my crew in Puck's hands. That boy's still too impulsive and easily distracted to run the floor, and you know Pops don't got it in him to discipline any of them anymore." She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her jeans. "I'm where I need to be, boss man. There'll be tons of time later to sit on my ass and watch the young bucks do all the hard work. May as well do my time while I still can."

Monty nodded, not really understanding why the girl would want to risk her body daily and for less pay, but he knew she wasn't about to change her mind right then. "You better head on up then. We got a lotta drilling to do and I'm not too happy with some of the geological scans I got today. I got a bad feeling we're gonna hit some gas pockets and you know what a pain in the ass they can be."

Santana nodded. Drilling into pockets of natural gas was not only dangerous, it activated an alarm on the rig and the whole platform would have to be evacuated until the detection unit registered safe levels once again. It shut the whole operation down and if the proper procedures weren't strictly adhered to it could turn deadly. She would have to make sure everyone was on their game and keep an even closer eye on her crew than normal.

After dropping her bag off at her locker, she climbed up onto the platform where Puck was waiting for her with a wide grin.

Puck was her best lesbro. She had known the mohawked boy since they were kids, but while Santana had dropped out freshmen year of high school, Puck had stuck it out and had graduated right alongside Quinn. He tried community college at first but that didn't last. His heart just wasn't in it, and he eventually decided to try his luck at a career in music. He moved to Nashville for a spell, playing various dive bars, recording demos and just trying to get his name out there. Unfortunately, the professional music scene was a cruel and unforgiving machine that sucked in young blood and spit them out just as fast. Puck lost track of the empty promises and broken dreams that marked his time in Nashville.

Ultimately, he decided to give it up and move back home to Dallas. He'd been living in his mother's basement ever since. It wasn't that he couldn't afford a place of his own now; he just liked the pampering. He wouldn't admit it, and truthfully he didn't have to since the whole crew knew, but he was a big mama's boy and he just wanted a woman to coddle and take care of him.

He ended up running into Santana at a 7-11 his first week back in Dallas. She told him she had roughneck work if he was interested, and he joined her team the next day. It was almost as if he never left, the two becoming close instantly and falling into the familiar patterns they had as teens.

The two roughnecks were super competitive with each other, and that didn't show itself more than when it came to their lady-loving ways. Since they were kids they'd compete over who could score the most numbers or snag the hottest girl. And things some things just never changed. But the two lotharios loved each other and they could joke and tease and compete without taking it personal because of the close bond they shared.

"Yo, Lopez," Puck greeted Santana warmly, pulling her into a one-armed hug. "How hot were those chicks yesterday? I'd almost forgotten how much energy those sorority girls have. I think I'm still fucking dehydrated, dude."

Santana smirked at the brash young man. "Anyone tell you it's impolite to kiss and tell? Besides, bragging about some one night stand is actually pretty lame, Puckerman."

He scoffed at her. "Like you didn't spend two fucking hours giving us the play by play of that night you spent with those California girls."

"First off," she responded with a grin, "it wasn't one night. It was a full weekend; a _three-fucking-day_ weekend. Secondly, they were professional dancers, Puck. _Dancers_. You know how much flexibility that requires?"

"They were from Fresno," he laughed. "It's not like you were getting it on with some Fly Girls or something."

Santana shrugged. "Still, man, it was fucking epic. That my sweet, innocent Puck was not bragging. It was a public service. You know with the shit situation the country's in people gotta have a higher power to believe in. That weekend was proof positive that God exists. Her name's just Santana Mother-Fucking Lopez, that's all." She winked at the equally amused boy and high-fived him.

Once Finn and Mike arrived, Pops hopped behind the driller's console and the crew went to work. Mike had maintenance duty and so he wouldn't be joining them on the platform, working around the site instead. With everyone accounted for and ready, Santana got down to business. "Time to earn that big, fat paycheck, fellas," she called out.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

The midday sun blistered down on the roughnecks' skin. Sweat poured off their bodies, drenching their mud-stained clothes. It was almost noon and the crew couldn't wait for their 12:45 lunch break to be called. Santana ripped off her flannel shirt and tossed it next to Pops' drilling station, wiping her hands on her jeans before pulling on her heavy work gloves once again. She picked up a thick chain and got ready to whip it around the next section of pipe and fasten it in.

Suddenly, their attention was pulled off the platform by a squeal of tires on the dirt path leading up to the rig. A small sedan came to a screeching halt next to Santana's truck and an irate woman burst out of the driver's seat. She was slim-figured with dirty-blonde hair whipping around her face as she moved to pull out two 5-gallon cans of paint out of her trunk.

"Oh shit," Santana exclaimed, dropping the chain at her feet and racing down the rig steps. The work crew leaned over the rig railing to get a better look at the scene.

By the time Santana made it off the rig, the woman had already covered the windshield of her truck with one can of thick, pale pink paint and was pouring the second can over the gleaming white hood.

"Mother fucker!" Santana shouted, running up to the woman who had dropped the paint cans and was now yelling obscenities at her. The roughneck moved her body between the woman and her truck, keeping her arms raised, palms out toward the furious girl. She tried to use her body to push the woman back, trying not to put her hands directly on the enraged girl.

The green-eyed blonde pushed against Santana's chest, beating against it with closed fists. The roughneck refused to retaliate, continuing to try to walk the girl away and moving her head from side to side to avoid any blows to the face. When the woman reeled back and slapped her hard across the cheek, however, Santana grabbed the girl's wrists and held them still.

"Terri, stop," she said forcefully, meeting suddenly watery eyes. At Santana's glare, the woman burst into tears, throwing her arms around Santana's neck and hugging her close. The brunette rolled her eyes and tried to push the woman off her.

Another vehicle peeled into the lot, stopping beside the struggling pair. A tall redheaded woman emerged from the driver's seat with a stocky, beer-bellied man following quickly behind.

Santana turned toward the two and shouted at the redhead. "You better get her out of here, Amy!"

Amy grabbed Terri's arm and pulled her off the roughneck. By then, Puck, Finn and Mike had run up to the scene and they stood behind Santana, lending their implicit support. The rotund man approached the brunette and shoved her in the chest. Puck made a move to grab him, but Santana was faster. She slapped his hand away and pushed back.

"Stay the fuck away from my wife," he yelled.

"If you took better care of your woman, I wouldn't have to, asshole," she shouted back.

The man lunged at Santana and the roughneck took a quick step forward to meet him but felt herself held back by Puck.

"Knock it off," the mohawked boy shouted, getting between them and pushing them apart. Mike wrapped his strong arms around Santana's waist to keep her from moving forward.

"Get them the fuck out of here, Amy," Santana spat, tearing Mike's arms from her body.

The redhead shoved the now crying blonde into the passenger seat of her car, tossing Terri's keys to her husband. The intruders peeled out in a wake of dust and gravel.

Santana exhaled slowly, trying to calm her racing heart. She turned to see Finn running up with a long hose. The tall man aimed it at her truck, trying to clear as much paint off as possible.

"Son of a bitch!" Santana shook her head in frustration. She grabbed the hose from Finn, pressing her finger against the nozzle to try to increase the water pressure.

"Just focus on the windshield. You just gotta be able to drive it," Puck instructed, trying to hide his smirk.

But Santana caught the twinkle in the boy's eye. "Don't even start, Puckerman," Santana warned. The small roughneck took in her once sparkling white baby. "Fuck!"

The roughnecks cleared off as much of the windshield as they could, but the hood was still covered in thick, increasingly hardening paint when Monty sauntered up slowly. The toolpusher pulled out a cigarette before looking up at the group. "Looks like lunch started early today, huh?"

"I'm sorry boss man," Santana took charge. "There was an…_incident_."

"I can see that." He took a long drag and the roughnecks shuffled their feet, waiting to be reamed out. "But that well's not gonna drill itself. Get back on the rig. Lunch is pushed back an hour."

They groaned but complied. Santana tossed one last, fleeting look back at her pink-stained truck before walking over to the rig to get back to work.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Santana pulled her desecrated vehicle into her garage, her hands gripping the wheel tightly in frustration. After an already long day at work, the roughneck had spent three hours at a local car wash, trying her best to rid her ride of the offensive pink paint. Hours under the Texas sun, however, had baked the paint in and she was left with blotches of pink paint and a drippy pink tinge all over her hood. Santana knew she'd have to take the truck in to be repainted and she seethed at the prospect of not having her baby for at least a week.

She shook her head as she exited the truck. Terri had been a huge mistake. Santana didn't usually go for older women and she could usually spot crazy right away, but it had been a long night at the bar and she'd had one too many shots of Southern Comfort. The next thing she knew she was waking up naked in the other woman's bed. She knew she should've just left then, but Terri was super fit and Santana figured she should at least have one romp with the woman that she could actually remember. So she had stayed and she'd been trying to dodge the clingy woman ever since. Once Santana found out Terri was married, the roughneck tried to cut her out even more but the woman was relentless. Santana could only hope that today was the final straw and the unstable woman would finally leave her alone.

The weary brunette patted her baby one last time before making her way inside her home. She trudged upstairs to her bedroom, placing her soiled work clothes in a hamper before sitting on the edge of the bed to remove her heavy work boots. She hummed as she leaned back and wiggled her toes, relieving some of the ache in her feet. After pulling on a pair of loose sweatpants and baby-soft t-shirt, she shuffled up to her closet.

Santana was planning to visit _Sylvester, __Bieste, __and __Schuester_ after work the following day and she knew she needed to find something appropriate to wear. Shopping for clothes was one of her greatest indulgences and her very large walk-in closet was a testament to just how often she indulged. Unfortunately, as full as her extensive wardrobe was, her tastes didn't really extend to professional business attire. When Santana felt like dressing up, she tended towards tight-fitting, strategically revealing sexiness and she didn't think a body-hugging mini-dress was suitable for working in a high-power law firm.

With a heavy sigh, she finally pulled out a pair of tight-fitting white pants and a simple, dark blue top. She grabbed a cream-colored camisole that she could wear underneath and figured that was the best she could do at the moment. She folded the items neatly and placed them in her work duffel so she wouldn't forget them the next day.

Having made her decision, Santana went downstairs to start dinner and settle in for what she hoped would be a quiet night. After all the drama of the day, the roughneck didn't feel like going out with the boys and partying it up at Joe Jack's as was usual for them. Instead, she'd settle for a beer and a quick pasta salad in the comfy confines of her home.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

The following day's roughnecking went far smoother than yesterday and Santana was grateful for the relatively peaceful work. She changed into her dress clothes before dropping her truck off at the body shop to get repainted. Eight hundred dollars later, she made her way to a nearby bus stop and waited for a bus that would take her to downtown Dallas, silently cursing Terri under her breath the whole time.

After a 15-minute trip, Santana found herself staring up at an impressive gray-black building that housed the _Sylvester, __Bieste, __and __Schuester_ law offices. She ran her hands down her pants, smoothing out any creases before pushing on the large double doors and entering the building. It was a little after seven at night, but true to Quinn's words the place was still alive with activity, a number of sharply dressed individuals milling about and chatting amiably. There was a reception area just inside the building and a small brunette woman looked up expectantly at Santana as she approached.

"Hey," Santana started, a little unsure what she was supposed to tell the young woman. "I'm looking for Quinn Fabray. Is she still here?"

"I believe so. Just give me a minute." She picked up the receiver of her desk phone. "Whom may I say is calling?" the cheery girl asked with a wide, toothy smile.

"Santana. Santana Lopez."

The receptionist jumped up excitedly at the name, slamming the phone back down and turning big brown eyes on the roughneck. "You're Santana?" she asked eagerly. "I'm so excited to meet you!" She rounded the desk and Santana was surprised by how tiny and overly animated the young woman was. "So you're our ringer, huh?" she whispered conspiratorially.

Santana shrugged. "I guess."

"I've heard so much about you! Your basketball exploits have been circulating the office like wildfire and while I am not a person who engages in idle office gossip, I have to say that I have been eagerly anticipating your arrival since yesterday." She took a breath and snaked her arm into Santana's, clutching the girl's elbow and pulling her forward. "Let me introduce myself," she placed a hand on her chest, "I am Rachel Berry, office manager and all around go-to girl for _Sylvester, __Bieste, __and __Schuester_." She led Santana down a long, bustling hallway, her quick stride matching the speed at which she spoke.

"If there's anything anyone needs or if anything of importance needs to be done, I'm the one the associates call to make sure everything goes off without a hitch. Now I know what you're thinking, what's an accomplished and obviously intelligent and ambitious individual like myself doing behind a receptionist desk and not out there arguing cases, making motions, and cracking down on the social and economic injustices that plague the state if not the country, and I will tell you that I am indeed working on it. I am currently enrolled in law school—while working full time I might add—and am scheduled to take the bar at the end of the year."

Santana looked back over her shoulder at the exit in a bit of a panic. She was contemplating whether tripping the chatty brunette would give her enough time to make a dash for the door, but just as she was readying to snake a foot out in front of the receptionist, she was dragged around a corner, taking the double doors regretfully out of view.

"Uh," she stammered.

Rachel, for her part, didn't miss a beat, pulling the roughneck around the corridors without pausing her extensive self-introduction. "And I can anticipate your next question, Santana. What has taken me so long to get my law degree? Quinn's already a junior associate, after all. Well, unlike Miss Fabray, the fast-paced world of law was not an immediate dream of mine. I was bitten by the musical theater bug at a young age and after a very successful high school career in which I played leads in _Oklahoma!_, _West __Side __Story_, _Bye __Bye __Birdie_, and the iconic _Funny __Girl_, I decided to follow my dreams and make the thrilling but terrifying journey to the musical capital of the world. Yes," she let go of Santana's arm and clapped her hands excitedly, "little ole Rachel Berry hopped on a bus and made the long, exciting trip all the way to Branson, Missouri!"

Santana's eyes were wide. Her "crazy" radar was pinging off the charts but she didn't know where she was, having been dragged around several corners and down numerous hallways that all looked alike. The roughneck didn't think she'd be able to find her way out of the building if she tried.

The office manager grabbed Santana's arm once again and continued pulling the girl along. "Oh, those were exhilarating times," she sighed wistfully. "I spent two years opening for the WingTones, a premier, all Chinese a cappella group focusing on the toe-tapping, feel good romps of the 50s and 60s. Five shows a day, six days a week. It was grueling work but the exhilaration of the crowd made it all worth it. I'm sure I would have received numerous standing ovations if those in the audience were able to stand without assistance."

The office manager sighed suddenly, "alas, after two years of working so hard, I found myself burning out and the vocal strain of so many shows a day was taking its toll. And quite honestly, I started to miss my home and my family, and after much soul-searching and contemplation, I finally decided to pack it all in and return to my roots. I am still a performer at heart, however, as once you've felt the thrill of applause and the adoration of the crowd, you never really get over it. But now, the possibility of getting to use my extensive experience as a performer in the courtroom and for the greater good of humanity is equally thrilling, and I am sure I will be rising up the ranks of _Sylvester, __Bieste, __and __Schuester_ in no time. You know, this really is the best law firm in Dallas…"

Santana pressed her fingertips against her eyelids. Her head was pounding and she was becoming desperate. She whipped her head around trying to find any escape. They turned yet another corner and the roughneck caught sight of familiar blonde hair. Frantic brown eyes met bright, brilliant blue and the roughneck sighed in relief when the tall blonde started to make her way over to the pair.

"Hey Santana," Brittany greeted warmly, "looks like Rachel's giving you the lay of the land?" She smiled warmly at the two of them. Noticing the pleading look in the roughneck's eyes, Brittany turned to the tiny receptionist. "Hey Rach, I think Sue's looking for you. Something about organizing the boot camp session for tomorrow. I can take over showing Santana around."

Rachel sighed. "Duty calls, I guess." She finally let go of the roughneck. "It was certainly a pleasure meeting you, Santana. I cannot wait to continue our conversation at a later date."

"Uh, yea. Nice meeting you, Rhonda," Santana said, grabbing Brittany's hand and pulling her down the hall.

"It's Rachel," she called out cheerily, waving as the roughneck dragged the blonde away.

Once the two turned a corner and the office manager was out of sight, Santana lunged at the blonde, wrapping her strong arms around the attorney and hugging tightly. "Oh thank God! You are a lifesaver," she breathed.

Brittany chuckled, enjoying the feel of the roughneck holding her so close. She closed her eyes and breathed in the rich scent of the girl. After too short a beat, the brunette pulled back a little and Brittany reached up to brush a strand of hair off the roughneck's face, tucking it neatly behind her ear. They exchanged shy smiles before the blonde finally stepped out of the brunette's personal space.

"No problem," Brittany replied. "Rachel can be a bit much at times."

"A bit?" Santana quirked an eyebrow at the grinning lawyer, causing the blonde to throw her head back and laugh.

"Well, I assume Rachel spent the time regaling you with her entire life story and neglected to familiarize you with the actual layout of the office. Am I right?" At the roughneck's nod, Brittany grabbed her hand and continued, "then let me give you the quick tour."

The two women walked around the building leisurely, Brittany pointing out various offices and introducing Santana to the employees who were still working at the relatively late hour. They ended the tour in the common room where the lawyers would gather for a quick coffee break or to socialize at various points in the day. The room was quite large with comfortable-looking couches and clusters of tables and chairs. There were two, industrial size coffee dispensers, a complicated-looking espresso machine and a small, clear glass fridge containing juices and soft drinks on a back counter next to a stainless steel sink.

"Do you want a coffee or something?" Brittany asked, gesturing to the counter.

"Ah, orange juice would be nice."

Brittany grabbed two bottles from the fridge and the pair settled next to each other on one of the couches. They sat quietly for a moment, sipping their beverages and simply enjoying the company.

"So," Brittany started quietly, "what do you think?"

Santana set her juice on the low coffee table in front of them and sat back, throwing an arm up on the backrest, her fingers brushing against Brittany's shoulder lightly. "It's big," she looked around. "And I really don't know what I'm supposed to be doing here."

Brittany reached over and patted the roughneck on the knee. "Don't worry too much. Sue can be intense, but you probably won't be working for her directly. You'll most likely be assigned to some of the junior associates and we're not too bad of a bunch. Unfortunately," she paused to take a sip of her drink, grinning into the lip of the plastic bottle, "you'll probably be spending most of your time with Rachel since she'll be logging your hours and will have assembled a list of work for you."

"Oh God." Santana threw her head back on the couch and closed her eyes.

Brittany chuckled at the woman's dramatic reaction to the perky office manager. "It won't be so bad." She rubbed the brunette's knee. "Are you coming in tomorrow night?"

Santana shrugged. "Maybe."

"Well, I'll be sure to tell Rachel that I have some work for you and you can hide out in my office if you need a break."

The roughneck smiled over at Brittany. She let her eyes coast over the other woman's body, drinking in the soft curves and lean lines of the lawyer. The blonde was dressed similarly to when they had first met, light-colored blouse open at the neck, a dark blazer buttoned at the waist. The only major difference was that instead of a sleek pencil skirt, the blonde wore dark grey wool slacks that covered her exceptionally long legs. The lawyer was gorgeous, probably the most attractive woman Santana had ever seen and that was saying a lot considering how much the brunette got around.

The roughneck looked up into playful, open blue eyes before moving her gaze down to focus on pink, pouty lips. She licked her own lips subconsciously, leaning in towards the blonde slightly.

"Lopez!"

The roughneck jerked back, startled. The two women turned toward the sound and saw a flawless Quinn Fabray walking toward them, a wide smile on her face. She plopped down next to Santana and cuffed the brunette on the shoulder. "Why didn't you come see me when you got here?"

Santana wrapped an arm around Quinn and hugged her close. "We swung by your office but you weren't in when we got there."

"Did Britts give you the grand tour then?" After the two women nodded, Quinn continued. "Perfect. Now I don't have to. I've been running around this building since eight this morning and don't feel like moving any more than absolutely necessary. Luckily, I'm right around the corner." She grabbed Santana's hand and stood, pulling the dark-haired girl up with her. "Let's head over. Sue gave me a list of softball drills and a practice schedule she wanted to run by you. She wants you to lead some of the practices so we have to find some common times that work for you and the office."

The roughneck glanced down at the still lounging blonde. They shared a shy smile that did not go unnoticed by Quinn. The hazel-eyed attorney glanced between the two women, an uneasy feeling settling in her stomach. She cleared her throat. "Um, ready Santana?"

The roughneck nodded to Quinn and gave one last look down at the leggy blonde. "Guess I'll see you later, Britt?"

Brittany smiled at the nickname. "Sure thing, San."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Once the two friends were seated in Quinn's office, the suddenly fidgety lawyer turned to Santana, her hazel eyes a bit foggy from worry. "Before we get into things, I have a favor to ask."

"Shoot."

Quinn bit the end of her thumbnail nervously. Then, with an exaggerated sigh, she jumped right into things. "Look, I know you, San and I want you to promise me that while you're here you won't sleep with anyone at the office."

Santana was taken aback by the request. It certainly wasn't something she expected her friend to ask. And seeing the other woman's surprise, Quinn clarified, "I just know how you are with your…'dates' and I don't want things to be awkward here." She picked up the brunette's hand and held it gently. "I have to work with these people, Santana. And long after the tournament ends and you're gone I'm still going to be here. I just don't want to deal with any animosity or hurt feelings."

Santana looked up into honest, gold-green eyes.

"I know it's a shitty thing to ask," Quinn continued, "but I'm asking anyway. Please," she batted her eyes softly, "for me."

Santana's shoulders slumped and she let out a slow breath. She knew Quinn wouldn't have asked if it wasn't really important to her, and as much as the roughneck hated giving up the opportunity to bed some smoking hot lawyers—one hot blonde in particular—she didn't want to make things difficult for her friend. "You know, you're really messing up my game, Fabray," she joked, her soft brown eyes twinkling up at the blonde.

"Like you don't get enough play as it is. Come on," Quinn bumped the other girl with her shoulder, "I'm sure you'll find more than enough ways to occupy your time _outside_ of the office. I hear Rush Week's coming up," she sang, teasingly.

They shared an easy, knowing smile. "Alright, but you owe me Fabray. The next time I call you in the middle of the night to pick my drunk ass up from some bar, I better not hear any complaints." She extended her hand out to her friend.

"Deal," Quinn replied, slapping her hand into the roughneck's strong grip.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thank you for your reviews and alerts! I really appreciate the interest and the feedback. I hope you enjoyed this chapter even though it's mostly background and set up. If you have a moment, please take the time to review. I love hearing from you. Also, if you're reading my other story, "The Quarterback," 1) thank you! and 2) I'm working on the next chapter now and it'll hopefully be up soon! I promise I haven't forgotten about it!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews and alerts! You all are awesome! **

**Disclaimer**: Don't own the show nor am I affiliated with it in any way, unfortunately.

Chapter Three

Santana was _pissed_. It was four thirty in the morning and she was freezing her ass off at a bus stop five freakishly long blocks away from her house. She would have to take two buses just to get to a gas station near enough to the site so that Puck could pick her up. The DART system didn't exactly run routes out to the rig after all. Puck offered to take her the whole way but he lived clear across town and that boy could barely make their shift on time as it was. Santana knew if he had to come all the way out to her house they'd both be really late for work.

The roughneck shivered under the flimsy shelter, clutching her heavy coat tightly around her body. "Fucking Terri," she muttered, cursing the unpredictable woman and all the trouble she'd caused. The autobody shop had been backed up and wouldn't be able to even touch her truck for several days. She could take it home in the meantime, but there was no way Santana was taking it out looking the way it did. So, stubborn as always, she decided to tough it out and haul her ass around on public transport. It didn't mean she had to enjoy the experience, however.

"Fucking Terri."

She rocked herself back and forth on the cold, metal bench, hoping the movement would generate some heat. The whole Terri fiasco had been weighing on the young roughneck's mind, and while she was ticked beyond belief at the older woman, she couldn't help but reflect on what got her there in the first place.

Santana was a player and she never pretended to be otherwise. She loved women and she truly believed that the best way to convey that love was through physical touch and mind-numbing orgasms. While some might find it distasteful or disrespectful even, Santana thought nothing illustrated her reverence for women more than her desire to sample from the rich bounty of beauty that came into her life. She _worshipped_ the women she was with.

She just couldn't commit to them.

And she never hid that fact from her hookups. She was almost brutally honest with the girls she bedded, and she paid the price for it often enough, losing out on some spectacular tail because of how explicit she was about her intentions.

But Terri's persistence and subsequent revenge had unsettled her. Sure, she was used to the occasional begging or clumsy, way-too-obvious stalking. And okay, there may have been harsh words or foul glares at times, and she may have been slapped in the face more than most_._ But Santana had never taken any of it seriously. Yes, it was irritating, but the pleasures she gained certainly outweighed the mostly infrequent annoyances, and for each negative encounter there were at least a dozen mouth-watering, spine-tingling, toe-curling experiences to counteract it.

But Terri? Terri was in a league of her own when it came to crazy. It started with a few phone calls that the roughneck brushed off politely, explaining again and again that she wasn't interested in a repeat or in starting anything serious. She'd been magnanimous to start, telling the older woman how good of a time she'd had and how Terri'd find someone new in no time. Blah, blah, blah.

But when a paunchy, middle-aged man came barreling at her at Joe Jack's claiming that she'd taken advantage of his wife, Santana had been shocked and livid. One thing she didn't do was sleep with other people's women. At least not knowingly.

After a brief shoving match, the bouncers at JJ's had thrown the incensed man out and the roughneck had been left seething. She'd changed her cell phone number the next day and avoided JJ's for weeks (which was a bigger sacrifice than it seemed as the old honky-tonk was practically her second home). And after a while, with no other incidents, she'd assumed that unfortunate chapter in her life was finally over.

That was until the jilted woman had shown up at her work and royally trashed her truck.

It was just too much fucking drama, and the roughneck vowed to be more cautious and explicit in the future—to be clearer about what sex with Santana Lopez meant and to choose her lovers with greater care. She wasn't looking for a girlfriend, a wife, or even a friend, really. And she'd make damn sure her future hookups understood that.

"Fucking Terri."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

"You disgust me!" Sue bellowed into her loudspeaker. "My grandma can run faster than that and she's dead!"

The offices of _Sylvester, __Bieste, __and __Schuester_ were temporarily shut down with only a few interns and senior associates actually working on business matters and making sure the phones were answered. The majority of the employees, Bieste and Schuester included, were instead holed up in a dank, steamy gymnasium three blocks from the office running wind sprints under the steely-eyed direction of Sue Sylvester.

"Run it again!" she barked into her loudspeaker.

"Sue! I think that's enough," Will breathed, bent over with his hands on his knees and panting heavily.

They'd been at it for hours, performing numerous sit-up and push-up drills, chucking large medicine balls to one another, and running countless laps around the massive gym.

"What was that, William? The sound of your repulsive, flabby gut smacking against itself drowned out the sound of your overly shrill and surprisingly feminine voice."

"Sue! Enough," he shouted.

"Pathetic," Sue spat. The start of the Dallas Law Association annual softball tournament was a week and a half away and Sue was on a rampage. She was determined to whip this sorry bunch of overly-privileged daisies into shape, and by the look of the groaning, writhing mass of sweat-stained, dry-heaving humanity doubled-over before her, she had _a __lot_ of work to do.

The first step was daily workouts that started at seven in the morning and ran until _she_ felt _they_ could go no longer or take no more. The second step was softball-centric drills with their little lesbian A-Rod which included batting practices at night and fieldwork Mondays and Sundays. And still she wasn't convinced it was enough.

The relentless woman had committed herself to success in all things and she would force her team to rise with her or they would die trying. And for Sue Sylvester, that _wasn__'__t_ hyperbole.

She lifted the speaker to her lips again. "Back at the office looking presentable in 30! If you're on the list," she gestured to her personal assistant, Becky, who started handing out papers, "you've got mandatory batting practice with Chita Rivera tonight at eight." A loud groan met the news, and Sue turned on her heel, a grim look adorning her face before stalking out of the gym.

"Oh. My. God," Quinn wheezed, falling onto her back and clutching her aching sides. "She's fucking insane."

Brittany crawled up next to her and planted herself, face first on the hardwood floor. "I think I'm dying, Q. Do you think it hurts this much when you're dead?"

Quinn chuckled and patted the girl on the shoulder absently, too exhausted to lift her head or tear her eyes from the ceiling.

"How are we supposed to make it through the tournament if we can't move our legs," Brittany whined.

Before she could respond, Becky appeared and thrust a flyer at them. Quinn reached up blindly and closed her fist around the loose sheet of paper.

"Practice at eight. Latecomers and no-shows will be fined," Becky informed them simply before hustling on to the next cluster of exhausted employees.

"Can she even do that?" Brittany asked, her voice still muffled by the floor.

"Who knows," the lawyer huffed. "I for one don't want to find out. Come on," she said, pulling herself up onto shaky legs and reaching a hand down to the tall blonde. "We better get going before the battleaxe comes back and makes us run another lap."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

The Big Bat Batting Cages were relatively empty that Thursday night. Sue had assigned 11 employees to batting practice—ten ladies, including Quinn, Brittany and Mercedes, and Kurt. At eight exactly, the team hustled out of their cars and found their instructor/ringer swinging away in one of the cages.

Santana was dressed in grey sweatpants and a tight, dark blue tank top. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail that trailed out from under the helmet fit snuggly on her head. They watched in awe as she cracked ball after ball, the automated machine hurling them at her at what seemed like record speed.

The group fidgeted nervously at the rate and velocity of the pitches, thoughts of concussions, black eyes and bruised bodies flittering through their minds.

Kurt turned wide, anxious eyes on Quinn. "We're not getting in there are we," he whispered. "I just got a facial and my skin's particularly delicate at the moment. I'll bruise easily."

Quinn shrugged. "I think you can make it go slower. There's no way I'm getting in there with those things coming at me like that. I'm not getting killed for Sue. I don't care how much she's paying me." Quinn paused and watched Santana hit another blistering ball across the cage. "I don't know. What do you think, B?" She turned when she didn't receive a response, "B?"

Brittany stood, transfixed on the scene in front of her. Her mouth hung open slightly as her crystal-blue eyes raked up the body of the roughneck. Santana was stunning, and Brittany let herself linger on the firm ass that jut out and flexed through the young woman's sweats as she leaned her upper body forward to prepare for the next pitch. Eventually, Brittany's eyes moved up to feast on exposed shoulders that tensed and rippled as the girl swung, contacting the ball with a smack and rocketing it forward. Brittany licked suddenly dry lips and exhaled slowly.

"B!" Quinn called out, hip-checking her friend to break her from her staring.

"What? What?" Brittany said, flitting her eyes distractedly towards the young lawyer, annoyed at having to pull away from the captivating ringer.

"Forget it," Quinn answered, shaking her head. "I just wanna get this over with and all this gawking isn't getting us anywhere. Santana!" she shouted, catching the roughneck's attention.

Santana turned and threw a wide smile back at the group, punching the tip of her bat against the machine behind her and stopping the pitches. "Hey guys," she said, removing her helmet and tossing it to the side. "Good to see y'all. I was just warming up. It's been a while since I've picked up a bat, ya know. 'Though that may not be the best thing to admit being the ringer and all." She smiled cheekily and winked before clasping her hands together and stretching her arms above her head, thrusting her chest out in the process. Half the women there swooned on the spot.

Brittany couldn't tear her eyes off the dark beauty and she felt herself flush. She stared unabashedly at every inch of exposed skin, marveling at the girl's long, lean muscles and tracing the beads of sweat that ran down her neck and collected in the hollow at the base of her throat. A stray drop slipped past the tiny reservoir and slid down her chest and between her cleavage before disappearing beneath the dark tank top.

Brittany turned away suddenly, forcing herself to avert her eyes and steady her nerves. Her mouth was dry and she sucked on her teeth to generate some moisture. _What__'__s _wrong _with __me,_she questioned the unfamiliar feelings, clenching her fists to try and calm her racing heart.

"So," Santana stated, her low voice startling the blonde. "I know Q and Britt," she threw a charming half-smile at the tall attorney before turning to the group. "And … Kurt and Mercedes was it?" she questioned. At their nods, she continued, "who else we got here?"

After Quinn introduced the group, the team from _Sylvester, __Bieste, __and __Schuester_ took seats on a low bench outside the batting cage and turned expectant eyes on the brunette standing in front of them.

Santana couldn't help but chuckle at the awkward-looking group. They had their protective helmets on askew and held wood bats clumsily between their legs. Their nervous fidgeting and wide, innocent eyes made them look like kids trying out for their first little league team.

"Okay," she started, clapping her hands together briefly. "We're gonna take things real slow to start. I just wanna see what kind of general skills you got first. So we're just gonna take a few easy swings. No pressure," she assured them. "Who wants to start?"

They all turned to look at each other anxiously, no one wanting to be the first person to embarrass themselves at bat, especially in front of the stunning ringer.

"I'll put the machine on the lowest setting, I promise," she continued.

Suddenly, Kurt coughed loudly and shoved his shoulder against Brittany who was seated next to him. The tall blonde stumbled forward, catching herself with a hand against the concrete and just keeping herself from face-planting on the ground.

"Brittany!" Santana enthused, smiling sweetly at the surprised girl. "Come on up!"

Brittany threw a glare over her shoulder at Kurt, her narrow, cobalt eyes boring into the young man who simply shrugged and recrossed his legs.

Santana and Brittany entered the cage, the roughneck's warm hand guiding the lawyer in by the small of her back.

"So the ball's going to come at you real easy. Just take a swing and show me what you got, okay?" She brushed loose, flaxen hair away from Brittany's face, causing a hot blush to rise in the blonde's cheeks.

Brittany swallowed nervously, gripping the bat in both hands and taking her place in the batter's box. The bat shook unsteadily from her loose wrists. She looked over her shoulder at Santana, biting her lower lip.

"You ready?" the roughneck asked. At the young woman's nod, she hit the button and a slow lob eased its way over the plate.

A second after the ball dropped to the ground behind her, Brittany swung with all her might, spinning herself around at the lack of contact and ending up in a wobbly stance face-to-face with the roughneck who grabbed her forearms and held her steady.

"Whoa there," Santana smirked, squeezing the blonde's arms gently. "Okay, okay, that's not bad at all. Try keeping your eyes open next time, though. You almost double your chances of making contact with the ball if you can see it coming first." She smiled adoringly at the lawyer.

"We're so screwed," Kurt whispered, earning him a punch to the shoulder from Quinn.

"No, no," Santana interjected, seeing the crestfallen look on Brittany's face. "Look, here," she said, coming in close and wrapping her arms around the blonde's waist. She spun her around so that the lawyer's back fit tightly to her front. "It's all about technique." The roughneck shuffled them back into the batter's box. "Spread your legs." She felt herself blush uncharacteristically at the sound of the request. "Um," she cleared her throat, "shoulder-length apart."

Due to their differences in height, Santana had to press her body into Brittany's back in order to reach the lawyer's arms. She allowed herself to indulge momentarily, smiling into a warm shoulder and dragging her fingertips lightly up the blonde's sides. She lifted her head, resting her chin on Brittany's shoulder, and placed her mouth up close to her ear.

Eventually, she ran her hands down Brittany's arms to the strong grip the woman had on the bat. "Not so tight," she whispered, tickling the blonde's ear with her breath. Santana could see the light raise of goose bumps on the woman's neck and licked her lips, her tongue _almost_ brushing Brittany's sensitive skin because of their proximity.

But even with Santana right in her ear, Brittany had to strain to hear the ringer's instruction over the rushing of blood in her ears. Her face felt like it was on fire and her legs trembled against the roughneck's body.

"Relax," Santana cooed, reveling in the feel of the woman in her arms. "Bend your knees a little." She pushed her pelvis forward into the blonde's butt, forcing the taller girl to bend slightly. "Bring your arms up," her hands slid up Brittany's arms until she reached her elbows and lifted. "Elbows high."

The roughneck let go with one hand and adjusted the bat. "Hold it … there. When you swing," she brought her hands down to Brittany's hips, squeezing them firmly, "you're gonna put your hips into it and swivel on your back foot. Okay," she paused, squeezing the blonde again, "swing." As Brittany brought the bat forward, Santana pushed her crotch against the blonde's backside and turned their bodies into the swing.

Brittany didn't know how she was able to move at all. It felt like she was hyperventilating even as she tried to keep her breaths low and slow. But the closeness of the roughneck and her soft, raspy voice in her ear was causing them come out in quick, uneven bursts. She felt a little drunk, her head swimming with every sensation, and the only thing that was keeping her upright was Santana's firm body behind her.

"There," the roughneck said suddenly, clearing her throat before pulling back and moving towards the pitch controls. "Just like that," Santana continued, forcing herself to make her voice light and casual, all the while trying to tame the white-hot desire coursing through her veins.

_Fucking __Quinn_, she thought. If it wasn't for that stupid promise she made to her friend she'd be shoving the tall blonde into the nearest bathroom stall and rocking the conservative lawyer's world. The roughneck was certain Brittany'd be way into it; they had practically dry-humped in the batter's box and Brittany seemed more than responsive to her touch.

But Santana Lopez _never_ broke a promise, and so she resigned herself to calming her raging libido and keeping it in her pants for once. No matter how uncomfortably hot and slick they got.

Brittany felt the loss of Santana's body immediately, a cold chill snaking up her back in place of the slow-burning heat of the roughneck. She turned disappointed eyes back over at Santana, a light pout tugging at her lower lip.

The roughneck chuckled quietly. It'd be so fucking easy. _Stupid, __fucking __Quinn_. "Ready to try it for real?" she asked.

The lawyer exhaled slowly. She looked up into bright brown eyes that sparkled under the lights and nodded shyly.

"Okay. Eyes open. Knees bent. Weight on your back foot. Elbows raised." Santana watched the blonde adjust herself at the direction. "Here it comes." She pushed the button and held her breath.

Brittany forced her eyes open. She ran through all of the steps in her head quickly, and when the small, white sphere came hurtling at her, she cocked her hip back and swung.

There was a loud crack and the bat vibrated in her hands. Brittany watched with wide eyes as the ball careened off her bat and hit the back fence with a clang.

"Now that's how it's done!" Santana called out proudly, clapping her hands in approval. Cheers rang out from the group and Brittany turned around excitedly, jumping up and down and shrieking with the rest of team, her fist and bat waving high in the air.

Santana found it all incredibly endearing and she smiled openly at the scene. "Okay, okay, let's not bust open the champagne just yet," she said good-naturedly. "Good job, Britt." She extended her hand, palm up.

The animated blonde blushed at the compliment and slapped her hand into the brunette's, holding it tightly.

"Ready to try it again?" Santana asked, resisting the urge to bring the pale hand up to her lips and releasing the lawyer's grip instead.

The roughneck let Brittany swing at about a dozen balls, and she made contact with most but not always cleanly which caused the baseballs to skid off the side of the bat and fly foul.

"You're swinging like half a second too early," Santana instructed, leaning casually against the fencing at the back of the cage, her arms crossed over her chest. She attempted to project a calm, professional demeanor but in actuality, Brittany was driving her crazy. The blonde had developed a nervous little shimmy before each swing, shaking her ass a second before the pitch was thrown. It had so thoroughly distracted Santana that she'd missed the first half Brittany's cuts.

The roughneck pushed off the fence and approached the blonde. "Don't chase it. This ain't the big leagues. You're probably not gonna get change-ups or breaking balls so you don't gotta worry about a lot of movement in the pitch."

Brittany nodded eagerly, even though she didn't understand a lick of what the woman just said.

"You want to hit the ball when it gets right around … here," she gestured to a spot in front of the blonde. "Try it again." Then, without thinking, she slapped Brittany on the butt before walking back to the machine.

Brittany blushed and smiled goofily at the firm tap. She hit a few more balls, each a little better than the last until finally Santana couldn't think of how to prolong their time together any longer. As much as Santana was enjoying the view, she knew she had to work with the others as well.

"Really great job, Britt! You'll be knocking 'em out of the ballpark in no time." She threw her arm around Brittany's shoulders and escorted her out of the cage, finally turning to the group and smiling. "Alright now, who's next?"

Nine excited arms shot up with a few ladies actually jumping out of their seats and waving their arms around eagerly. Santana's smile turned a little devilish at the sight. Even Kurt had flushed at how Santana was working with Brittany and held his hand high in the air, wiggling his fingers and smiling toothily at her.

Only Quinn remained seated, rolling her eyes at her colleagues and slouching back disinterestedly.

_It__'__d __be __so __fucking __easy_, Santana thought. Like shooting fish in a barrel. With an AK47. These ladies were chomping at the bit to get to her and Santana knew all she'd have to do was say the word and she would be drowning in hot, high-class lawyer ass for weeks.

_Stupid,_fucking _Quinn,_Santana grumbled to herself.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

_Fucking __Terri_. For a second, Santana reflected on the amount of time she'd spent that day cursing various people out in her head. It certainly felt like more than usual, but sitting at another bus stop at close to midnight after a long-ass day, meant Santana had neither the energy nor inclination to give a fuck.

She checked her watch and threw her head back in frustration. The late hour meant that buses were more infrequent and she had at least a 30-minute wait for the next one. She stretched her legs out and blew out a long, heavy breath.

Actually, the last few hours of her day had been pretty entertaining, and the roughneck smiled as she reflected on eclectic group of misfits she'd be working with. Each of them had taken their cuts, some taking to it quicker than others, but they all seemed pretty eager (Quinn being the notable exception). Santana knew they had a lot of work to do and they were never going to be a world class softball team, but she figured they were only competing against other lawyers so she didn't think it'd be that difficult to put up a decent showing.

The roughneck was pulled from her thoughts by a slow moving car rolling up next to the bus stop. She thrust her hand into her jacket pocket and fisted the small cylinder of pepper spray she kept on her at all times. She was feisty and all kinds of badass, but she was no dummy. As the car pulled closer, she could see that it was a gorgeous silver Lexus LS 460, but Santana knew better than to assume the opulence meant it no longer posed a threat. Freaks came from all social classes after all. The passenger window slid down slowly and she sucked in a quick breath and brought the pepper spray out of her pocket, holding it close to her side.

"Hey, you need a ride?"

Santana relaxed at the familiar voice, ducking her head so that she could get a better look at the beautiful blonde behind the wheel. She smiled disarmingly once she caught hold of those vibrant blue eyes. "In that? Hell yea!" Grabbing her duffel bag, she stood quickly and rushed up to the awesome ride.

Brittany chuckled at Santana's sudden energy and leaned over the seat to push the door open.

The roughneck took one last, all-encompassing look at the Lexus, whistling long and low at sleek lines and wicked grill. The thing was smoking hot and she couldn't wait to check out the interior.

Santana had a soft-spot for cars, for anything motorized that could go really fast, actually. After they got their driver's licenses when they were teens, she and Puck had tried to convince the salesman at the local Cadillac dealership to let them test drive one of the luxury vehicles. Santana had even worn her skintight tube top and hot pants that left nothing to the imagination, but, in the end, the too-thin dweeb in the starched shirt wouldn't budge.

When she started earning a regular paycheck, the first thing Santana started saving for was a brand, spanking new ride. Her Dodge Ram may not be an Escalade or a BMW, but she took pride in her truck and it was one of the few status symbols she actually put stock in.

But this, this was fucking epic! The seats were butter-soft and she swore heat was coming up through the frickin' leather! She fiddled with every little switch, button, and knob she could reach. When she flipped the control that opened the sunroof, Brittany reached over and grabbed her wrist lightly, stopping her from toggling the switch back to close it.

"Leave it," Brittany said quietly, giving Santana a soft, warm smile. The roughneck's childlike curiosity and enthusiasm had taken her by surprise at first. For all of her playfulness and bravado, Santana always seemed so steady and grounded. Sure, they had only interacted a handful of times, but in each instance, Santana seemed so even-keeled and put together.

But seeing her now, wide grin, little dimples on clear display as she toyed with all the bells and whistles of the car, Brittany couldn't help but be enamored by the young woman. It was so endearing, _so __cute_ that the blonde made a promise to herself in that instant to elicit that look, that wonder and unrestrained delight in Santana as often as possible.

The roughneck returned a shy smile before looking up through the sunroof at the dark, Texas sky. They were still in the heart of the city and the city lights drowned out the stars, leaving only an expanse of blue-black night as far as the eye could see.

"So," Brittany broke the silence, gaining Santana's attention, "where are we headed? You can punch the address into the GPS if you want."

"Sweet!" she enthused, leaning forward and punching buttons on the center console. "This is so boss."

Brittany chuckled. "Thanks. Sue's a bit of a tyrant, but she pays well," she said with a wink. "So what did you think of practice? Is there any hope for us?"

Santana laughed, settling back against the door to get a better view of the driver. "Well, y'all are pretty green," she said, rubbing her jaw dramatically. "And I thought we were doomed when Kurt decided the best tactic was to simply hurl the bat at the ball." They shared a smirk. "But you're not all _that_ bad. Mercedes can really whack the ball and I think Tina'll be a beast with a little more confidence. And if Quinn can get the stick out her ass for five minutes she'd be decent as well." She smirked playfully before reaching out and nudging Brittany on the shoulder, "and you're gonna be a maniac out there, I can tell."

Brittany blushed and tightened her hold on the wheel. "I don't know about that."

"Sure. You're like super fit and your hand-eye coordination is solid. Come on, there's _no __way_ those legs are just for show." Santana let her eyes linger over the large expanse of skin visible from below the girl's cotton shorts. Strong thigh muscles tensed as the blonde pushed against the accelerator. "You gotta be into some kind of … physical activity."

The lawyer could feel the weight of the girl's stare running over her body and she fidgeted under the intense gaze, not daring to meet Santana's frank appraisal and keeping her eyes glued to the road instead. "Uh, I guess we'll find out next Saturday, huh?" she replied with a little quiver in her voice.

The roughneck chuckled at her obvious discomfort. She knew she shouldn't be flirting with Brittany, but she just couldn't help herself. She was Santana Mother-Fucking Lopez. It'd be almost unnatural for her to _not_ flirt with the woman. She'd still keep her promise. Flirting wasn't sex after all.

"So," Brittany cleared her throat and tried to redirect the conversation, "do you always take public transportation?"

"My truck's in the shop actually. It'll be a couple weeks yet." She sighed and shook her head. Brittany chanced a glance at her and raised her eyebrow in question. "It's a long story," Santana continued. "Trust me, you do _not_ want to know."

She let the subject drop with a small smile and they finished the ride in companionable silence. When they finally pulled up Santana's driveway and parked, the blonde sat back and took in the beautiful, two-story Craftsman with its long wrap-around porch on the first level and stunning white columns set in stone bases framing the entrance. The forest green home had soft white trim and looked inviting and warm, and Brittany was surprised by how large and domestic it all seemed.

"Wow," Brittany breathed. "You live here?"

Santana grabbed the duffel she had set on the floor by her feet and pulled it onto her lap. "Yea," she said with a bit of pride in her voice.

"By yourself?"

"Uh-huh," Santana shrugged. "You wanna come in and check it out?"

Brittany bit her lip and glanced at the clock on the console. It was past midnight and she had an early day with Sue's bootcamp in the morning. "I really would, but it's already so late. Raincheck?"

"Definitely." The roughneck gathered her things and stepped out of the Lexus. She leaned down, sticking her head between the open door. "Thanks for the ride, Britt. Get home safe, okay?"

The blonde nodded and Santana took a moment to appreciate just how beautiful the young lawyer was. With a quick smile, she finally closed the door and made her way up to her home.

"Santana!" Brittany called out through her open window, causing the roughneck to drop her bag on the stoop and jog back towards the vehicle. "How are you getting in to work tomorrow?"

Santana crouched next to the driver's door and placed her forearms against the window. "Gotta take the bus, but don't worry about it."

"What time do you need to be there?"

"Britt, it's okay. I'm good."

"What time," Brittany said firmly, catching and holding the woman's gaze.

Santana shook her head at the persistence, grinning softly to herself. "I gotta be there by six."

"I'll be here at 5:30. Don't be late." She gave the woman a faux-stern look, pale blue eyes twinkling in the moonlight.

"You don't need to-"

"5:30, San. See you then." The lawyer reached over, squeezed Santana's hand briefly before sitting back and grabbing the wheel.

"Thanks, B."

The roughneck leaned against one of the columns on her porch and watched the silver Lexus pull away, waving goofily until the rear lights were no longer visible down the street. She sighed wistfully into the night.

_Stupid, __stupid, _fucking _Quinn._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Please take a moment to review if you get the chance. I love hearing from you and hope to do my best to keep you entertained. :) So let me know what you think!**

**LC: Thanks for the Psycho!Terri shout-out! Wasn't sure anyone would notice! :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer**: Don't own the show nor am I affiliated with it in any way.

Chapter Four

Brittany pulled up to the softly lit Craftsman at exactly 5:30. If working for Sue had taught her anything, it was the importance of being prompt. That didn't necessarily mean she enjoyed early mornings, however—her normally radiant blue eyes were half-hidden by droopy, heavy eyelids, and she let out a long, slow yawn that stretched her jaw and made her eyes water.

When she blinked up at the house again, she saw Santana hopping down her front steps, two travel mugs in her hands and a duffel bag slung across her chest and bumping low on her hip. The roughneck wore loose-fitting, faded jeans and a heavy, dark denim workshirt. Her thick, black hair was pulled into a tight ponytail and she wore a backwards, navy blue baseball cap with the Dallas Cowboys insignia embroidered on the front.

Brittany smiled sweetly at the sight, resting her cheek on her fist and leaning against the window. She was sure she looked like a fool, grinning stupidly at the approaching woman. Luckily the Lexus had a strong tint and she was confident Santana couldn't see her gawking through the dark glass.

Santana placed one of the mugs on the roof of the car and pulled the door open before retrieving the coffee and sliding in. "Mornin'," she said, her low, gravelly voice causing a shiver to snake down Brittany's back. "I didn't know how you took it, so it's black." She handed one of the mugs to the lawyer, setting her own between her knees and clutching it tightly.

"But," she paused dramatically and reached her fingertips into her shirt pocket. "Tada!" Santana exclaimed with a flourish, pulling out packets of sugar and non-dairy creamer and flapping them together with delight.

Brittany moaned at the rich, tantalizing smell filling the car. "Oh my God. I think I love you," she breathed, her eyes closing at the pleasure of the hot coffee in her hand and the heady aroma wafting around her.

Santana chuckled. "So, how do you like it?" she asked, her voice lowering and her eyebrows wagging enticingly.

Brittany blushed and ducked her head, not really understanding why the roughneck could make her act so silly sometimes but enjoying it nonetheless. "Um, two sugars, two creams, please."

Santana gathered all the packets in one hand and tore them open together. She took back Brittany's mug, letting her fingers brush against the woman's soft skin for a quick second before pulling away and dumping in the cream and sugar. She mixed them together with a plastic stirrer that she pulled from her front pocket. Once everything was incorporated and the dark brown liquid turned a creamy tan, Santana slipped the stirrer between her lips and hummed appreciatively at the sweet taste. "Mm, delicious."

Brittany licked her lips, mumbling a quick "thanks" before taking the outstretched cup distractedly. They shared a shy, quiet smile before she finally put the car in gear and rolled out of Santana's driveway.

The roughneck punched the rig address into the GPS with no less enthusiasm than she had the night before. "So dope," she whispered, excitedly. Her fingers brushed the switch to open the sunroof and she turned twinkling brown eyes to the lawyer, raising an eyebrow in question.

"Go ahead," Brittany laughed, completely smitten by the young woman. Santana seemed like such a big contraction. Tough and cocky one moment, soft and playful the next. It made her feel all warm and tingly to see all sides of the roughneck, and she found herself becoming more and more captivated by the young woman.

"Left turn, one mile," Santana mimicked the calm, disembodied voice of the GPS, making Brittany laugh affectionately. "She seems sweet. Have you named her yet?" the roughneck asked.

"What?" Brittany giggled again.

"The GPS lady. You gotta give her a name. You can't just go around calling her GPS lady."

"I guess I don't really mention her often enough to give her a name."

"Unacceptable," Santana said, shaking her head in mock disappointment. "We're naming her."

"Well, if you insist then." Brittany's bright, teasing blue eyes caught Santana's, and after a moment, she realized she was grinning like a dork at the roughneck and turned to focus back on the road. "So what were you thinking?"

Santana shrugged. "I dunno. She's your lady. What do you want?"

"Hm, what about Kimberly?"

"Kimberly?" Santana mulled seriously. "That's kinda … plain."

"Well, she sounds kinda plain."

"What? No frickin' way! She's got like superhero, know-it-all, what's it called, omniscience or some awesome shit like that. She's a total badass."

"Well, Kimberly can be a badass," Brittany defended.

"Name _one _badass named _Kimberly_."

"Kimberly Hart," she said with a shrug.

Santana sat back, stunned. Her mouth hung open and she stared at Brittany with wide, unblinking eyes. "You did _not_ just bring up Kimberly Hart, the pink Mother-Fucking _Power __Ranger_, by name! Ha!" she rolled around in her seat and clutched her stomach, laughing wildly.

"What?" Brittany questioned, feeling her cheeks burn with embarrassment.

"You, Miss Brittany, are a nerd."

"Hey!" She batted Santana on the shoulder with the back of her hand. "I am _not _a nerd!" The lawyer flashed sparkling eyes at the roughneck. "I'm a geek. There's a difference."

"Is that so?" Santana laughed, intrigued. "What's the diff?"

"Well," the blonde's voice turned faux-professorial, "nerds are like super geniuses, and because they're super smart they like super smart things. Like math and physics and chess. Geeks are just passionate-"

"Obsessed," Santana interjected.

"_Passionate_," Brittany repeated, "people who like things that might be a bit outside the mainstream, at least for grown-ups." She turned a quick smile at the roughneck. "So I _might _be into cartoons and kids shows, and I _may _have a collection or two," she blushed a little at the admission. _Why __did __I __just __say __that!_ "But I'm not like an intellectual or anything. I don't know anything about real technical, science-y stuff, you know? So I can't really be a nerd. I'm just your average geek who likes geeky things," she stated simply.

Santana sat back, leaning against the corner between the door and the seat. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked the young lawyer up and down. Everything about her was fucking adorable. The way she bit her lip and drummed her fingers on wheel when she was nervous. How her pale, freckled skin turned bright, rosy red and her sea-blue eyes twinkled with mischief when she was taken off guard but was gonna give as good as she got. It was all incredibly endearing.

"And," Brittany continued after a beat, "I noticed that _you _knew _exactly _who I was talking about." She smirked at the roughneck. "Well, Miss Lopez?"

Santana cleared her throat, shifting in her seat and turning her head to look out the window at the still-dark sky. "Okay, so _maybe_," she drawled out, "I was into the Power Rangers when I was a kid. But Kimberly Hart was totally hot so it wasn't like I was getting my geek on or anything. I was just being a good little lesbian."

"Oh, of course," Brittany teased. "Nothing geeky about that."

"_Anyway_," Santana said, "I don't think she's a Kimberly. I mean she's not even pink or anything. Zhane would be a better fit cuz he's at least _supposed __to __be_ silver," she rolled her head to the side, "even though everyone knew he was just friggin' white. But he's not even an original Ranger and he's such a little pretty boy too. Gross."

"Tell me again how you only watched casually for the hot chick."

Santana smiled a wide, toothy, _totally _geeky grin, and stuck her tongue out, warming Brittany's blood and making her flush.

"Okay," Brittany redirected, tapping a finger against her lips. "So no Kimberly. Hm. I don't know. You suggest something."

"How 'bout Velma?"

The blonde chuckled. "After Velma Dinkley?"

"You're such a geek!" Santana laughed.

"It was _your _suggestion! Besides, knowing Velma from Scooby-doo isn't all that geeky."

"Yea, but you totally knew her last name!"

"So did you!"

They shared a quick look filled with amusement, both smiling stupidly at each other, amazed by how much they had in common.

"Velma's okay," Brittany said, after a comfortable pause. "Makes her sound old though. I think she's sleeker and more modern than that."

Santana nodded thoughtfully. She threw her head back, trying to come up with a boss name that'd fit the voice of the tech-ed out ride. "I got it!" She sat up straight, grabbing Brittany's arm excitedly. "Sarah" she said with confidence, spreading her arms wide before sitting back and grinning smugly.

Brittany's brows furrowed, trying to figure out what cultural reference the young roughneck was suggesting. "Like Sarah Connor?"

Santana shook her head. She pulled a plump bottom lip between her teeth, trying to contain her excitement.

"Sarah Michelle Gellar?"

"Nope. Besides, I'd totally suggest Xena before Buffy cuz Xena's much more of a badass."

"Now, _that__'__s _debatable," Brittany quirked a brow at her.

"Hardly. But that's a conversation you can lose another day. Come on, think about what she is and how she sounds." She gestured to their surroundings. "She's a Sarah."

Santana watched the lawyer purse her lips and cock her head to the side, thinking deeply.

"Wait," Brittany said suddenly, flinging an arm out and hitting Santana in the stomach. "Sarah, like, S-A-R-A-H, right?" At her slow, nod, she laughed heartily. "You mean a Self Actuated-"

Santana jumped in with her. "Residential Automated Habitat," they finished together, each breaking out into wide grins.

The tall blonde pulled up to a light and took a moment to just observe the roughneck. The woman was just amazing. Not only was she probably the most beautiful woman Brittany had ever seen; she was strong and self-sufficient and confident and sweet and dorky and smart and such a complete and total fucking geek that Brittany could scarcely believe she was actually real. I mean the girl just suggested she name her GPS after the artificially intelligent, automated house from _Eureka!_ How frickin' amazing was that?

"Well," Brittany started slowly, narrowing her eyes and puffing out her cheeks as she continued down the street, "as much as it seems otherwise, I don't actually live in this car. And she doesn't really do anything more than give directions, unlike the actual SARAH," she glanced over at Santana who seemed a little disappointed that she didn't appear as excited about the name as the roughneck. "But," Brittany continued, "it's a totally awesome name and pretty damn perfect for her. She even kinda sounds like SARAH."

"Totally," Santana agreed, smiling approvingly at the decision.

"Alright, Sarah," Brittany patted the top of the center console, "welcome to the family."

They let the sound of Sarah's even, soothing voice guide them the rest of the way to the site.

Once she pulled up to the massive rig, Brittany turned wide, awed eyes to the tall, complicated scaffolding, impressive steel pipes and bulky machinery. A couple broad-shouldered men in checkered workshirts were hauling heavy, mud-stained equipment up to a large platform on the rig. Metal piping slammed together with a clang, causing the lawyer to jerk back and bring a hand to her rapidly beating heart. Everything looked so big and so incredibly dangerous.

She felt the car door close and turned to see that Santana had grabbed her stuff and already exited the Lexus. The roughneck stuck her arms through the open passenger window and bent forward, resting her weight on her forearms.

"Thanks for the ride, Britt. You really didn't have to, but it was totally better than the bus."

"No problem, San. It was fun." She drummed her fingertips nervously against the wheel, knowing they both had to get to work but not wanting to let the roughneck go just yet. "Um, so you like really work on that thing?" At the roughneck's nod, Brittany continued, "but it's like humungous! I mean you're so," she waved her hand up and down at Santana, "and that's so," she flicked a hand at the rig.

Santana chuckled softly at the lawyer. "Yea, well, I'm tougher than I seem."

The shy smile she gave the lawyer caused Brittany's heart to flutter and she had to turn her head away briefly, clearing her throat before turning back to the roughneck. "So what time do I need to pick you up?" she asked.

Santana couldn't help but shake her head at how sweet the young woman was. "That's really nice of you, Britt, but I can get a ride from one of the boys."

"Nonsense," Brittany dismissed. "It'll give me an excuse to get out of the office, and besides," she smiled, "you owe me a house tour."

The corner of the roughneck's lips raised into an uncharacteristically bashful grin. "Sure thing," she said quietly.

"So what time?"

"I get off at six. If you give me an extra 15 minutes, I can even be showered and clean when you get here."

"Deal. Six fifteen then."

"Thanks, Britt. I really owe you." Santana held the lawyer's gaze, her dark brown eyes flickering back and forth, searching Brittany's crystal clear blue ones for … she wasn't quite sure what. But in the blonde's returning look, she could see that Brittany trying to make sense of her too. Normally, Santana would have taken affront to the bold appraisal, to some woman trying to get in her head and figure her out. While she wasn't necessarily a guarded person, she didn't relinquish control or leave herself exposed easily.

But for some reason, Brittany was different. They barely knew each other yet Santana felt safe and secure within the other girl's scrutiny. It didn't feel judgmental or invasive, just … curious. And for the first time in a long time, Santana found herself actually welcoming, even encouraging, that curiosity.

A loud wolf whistle coming from over the roughneck's shoulder caused the two women to finally break their stare. Santana looked back briefly to see Puck and Mike leaning against each other a few feet away, Puck with his fingers at his lips, letting out another long, suggestive whistle, and Mike clapping and hooting appreciatively at his side.

The roughneck shook her head at their teasing, giving them the finger behind her back before bringing her eyes back to the blonde.

"Looks like we're making a scene," Brittany said quietly, a soft smile on her lips.

"Yea," Santana chuckled. "You'll have to excuse 'em. The boys haven't seen a classy woman in so long they've forgotten how to act around a lady," she said in a raised voice, causing the roughnecks behind her to snicker at the slight.

"She's totally talking 'bout you, dude," Brittany heard one of them try to whisper to the other.

"No way! She's _so _talking 'bout you."

"I'm talking 'bout the both y'all so shut it and git your asses on the rig 'fore I make sure neither of you have to worry 'bout birth control ever again. Tell Pops we're rollin' in five."

Throughout her speech, Santana never looked back, her relaxed posture never wavered. But even as she smiled and winked at Brittany, her voice deepened, taking on a commanding, authoritative tone and slight southern drawl that clipped her words and rounded off the ends. The sound made Brittany shiver and clench her fists on the wheel. She heard an "oh shit," mumbled from over Santana's shoulders just before she spotted two muscular men sprint away and up the metal stairs of the rig, shoving each other the whole way. She chuckled at their childish antics before turning back to Santana. The roughneck was watching her closely, a half-grin tugging the corner of her lips and bright, chocolate eyes shining back at her.

"I gotta head up," Santana said softly, chucking at thumb back behind her. "Guess I'll see ya a little after six?"

Brittany nodded. "I'll be here."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Try as she might, Santana couldn't wipe the cheesy grin off her face and by the time she hopped onto the rig platform she was beaming. Brittany just put her in a good mood and she found herself thoroughly enjoying the blonde's company. She was pulled out of her good thoughts, however, once she met the curious raised brows and knowing smirks of Puck and Mike, and she coughed lightly, bringing her forearm up to cover her mouth in an attempt to hide her good humor. She tried to level her trademarked scowl at them, but the intimidation factor fell way short as her eyes were still twinkling and her cheeks were still puffed up by an unrestrained smile.

"What the actual fuck, Lopez," Puck stated deliberately, his eyebrow raised almost comically high. "Since when did you start nailing high society broads?"

She tried to brush it off quickly and get to work. For some reason, she didn't like the idea of the boys knowing too much about Brittany or her promise to not sleep with the girl. "All my ladies are classy, Puckerman," she dropped the stern façade and backhanded him jovially on the chest. "Just cuz you like to troll last call at JJ's for whatever scraps the real ballers leave behind doesn't mean Mike and I aren't hittin' it in the big leagues." She raised her hand and high-fived Mike.

"Yea, right," Puck huffed. "You were right there next to me last week at JJ's. We closed the joint down together."

"_I_," she emphasized, "was waiting for a super hot waitress. _You_ were hanging off some blitzed old lady who kept hogging the karaoke machine to sing Neil Diamond songs all night. Badly, I might add."

"Love me some cougar action. Love me some Neil Diamond," he shrugged. "Ain't nothing wrong with that."

"_But_," Mike interjected, "back to the blonde hottie with the sweet ride. What's the deal, Santana? You never bring your hookups to work."

"Yea, they just come here to find you," Puck joked, earning him death glare and a whack on the back of the head from Santana.

"She serious," Mike continued, "or you just bring her by to show off her sick wheels?"

Santana scoffed at that. "Please Mikey," she started, pulling on her work gloves and slapping her hands together. "You know there's no getting serious with me and I sure as hell don't need to be showing off some other woman's ride. And before either of you get started on any more questions, we have work to do." She gestured to the chain at Puck's feet and he picked it up, letting a long stretch of it hang down to the floor.

"'Sides," she continued, moving over to swing a length of pipe over to the guys to be fastened in, "she's not a hookup. Just some girl I met through Q."

Puck swung the chain hard, whipping it around the pipe before releasing it and letting it fall to the metal platform with a clang. "Q? You mean Quinn?"

Santana looked up to see Puck scowling, his arms crossed defiantly over his chest. _Shit_, she cursed to herself, instantly regretting bringing up their childhood friend. Puck and Quinn had a complicated history. Against Santana's better judgment and very vocal objections, the pair had dated briefly towards the end of high school. Santana knew it was all kinds of a bad idea, but they were going to do what they were going to do, and after it all went to shit, Santana thought she restrained herself admirably by keeping her "I told you so's" to a bare minimum (which for Santana meant only bringing it up once a day, everyday for a month).

"Puck, let it go," she sighed. "We got a long day out here and we've already wasted enough time."

"Where'd you even see Quinn?" his eyes narrowed at the roughneck. "Lord knows she don't fraternize with us commoners anymore."

"Just grab the fucking chain and get to work, Puck. I'm serious," she said firmly, her stormy eyes meeting his challenging stare.

"Just tell me and I will!"

"She was at our last basketball game, dumbass. If you didn't have it hard for that sorority girl you'd have seen her yourself."

"Shit," he replied, running his gloved hands over his mohawk. "I bet she needed something from you, right? She didn't just come down to see her _good __friend_ outta the blue."

"Jesus Christ, Puck. It's fucking Q. She's our friend. Whatever you had or didn't have was ages ago. Grow the fuck up."

"This isn't about high school! It's about who she is now. You don't know these people, Santana." He paced around the platform, waving his hands around erratically. "They think they're all hot shit cuz of their degrees and their money. They think they're so much better than us." He let out a short, bitter laugh. "They'll cozy up to you when they need something but they wouldn't piss on you if you were on fire when they don't."

"Quinn's not like that, Puck, and you know it."

"Yea, well, people change. But it's more Quinn than you realize. She's always been too good for us and now she's got the job and the cash to prove it. And blondie in the Lexus, she'll be the same way."

Santana felt her hackles rise. The fine hairs on the back of her neck prickled and her nostrils flared. She clenched her jaw tightly, grinding her back teeth before taking a quick, menacing step towards the boy.

Puck raised his hands in surrender when he saw the fire burning in Santana's eyes and he took a step back. "I'm just saying, be careful around 'em," he softened his voice and turned pained eyes on her. "They ain't like us and no matter how much you may want to be _friends_ or whatever, you're still gonna be the blue collar, roughneck, work-a-day fool who ain't never gonna be good enough for 'em." Puck shook his head sadly. "Roughnecks and lawyers just don't mix, dude."

Santana took a deep breath. She let his last statement hang in the air, not wanting to get into it with him any further, at least not at work. She rolled her neck to the side, letting the satisfying crack calm her down and then motioned to the crew to get back to drilling.

They worked in earnest after that, diligently and wordlessly. Their lunch break was spent in similar silence, no one wanting to be the first to break the tension or say the wrong thing to set the two roughnecks off again. When they started back up, everyone stayed focused on their own task, and only Pops' direction cut through the noisy machinery and clashing metal.

Santana worked like a demon the whole day, funneling all of her anger and irritation into her work. She was still fucking fuming at … well at Puck obviously, but she didn't quite know why his little tirade riled her up so. He was always getting into it with Quinn, and it was an old, tired argument that Santana had heard over and over again.

Puck always thought the reason it ended between them was because Quinn didn't think he was good enough for her. It was a sentiment that only grew stronger as they had gone their separate ways and Quinn became a successful attorney at a prestigious law firm and he returned to Dallas, tail between his legs after his dreams of a music career were cruelly stomped on and stamped out. And being in Nashville, with all the schmoozing and false promises, just made him hate the privileged upper crust even more, and he felt like Quinn was aligning herself with those corporate fat cats and forgetting her roots.

None of this was news to Santana and so it shouldn't have irked her as much as it did today. No, the more she let her mind roam and let her muscle-memory guide her physical actions, the more she realized it wasn't what he said about Quinn that pissed her off; it was how much she believed him.

Truth was, hanging around Quinn's office and meeting her new friends did make her feel a little self-conscious and maybe even a little intimidated. Quinn traveled in different circles now and while all of her colleagues had seemed really nice to start, Santana knew that a few casual conversations at a batting cage didn't really amount to much.

Despite Puck's insinuation, Santana knew all too well how the white collar world viewed and treated working class stiffs like herself. She knew they made a lot of assumptions about her intelligence, ambition, future goals all because she was a high school dropout, sweating out her days on top a filthy oil rig. She knew all this but just really didn't give a fuck.

At least she never had before.

Santana swung the next length of pipe over, holding it in place for Puck. She wasn't really worried about Quinn. Maybe the girl's tastes had elevated, and maybe she hung around Armani suits more than faded Levi's, but she was still Q. She was still the little girl who collected soda cans with her when they were eight cuz Tommy Johnson's garage would give them two cents a can for 'em. She was still the girl who cried for two days straight because she had to wear her cousin Jimmy's old dungarees since she didn't have female cousins to borrow from. (Santana ended up trading her an old dress she got from her prima for the dungarees. She actually liked the baggy overalls so it was a win-win.)

It might be Quinn Fabray, Esquire now; but it used to be Lucy Quinny Fabray with the buck teeth and Coke-bottle glasses, and Santana would make damn sure the high-class lawyer never forgot that.

She smiled a little to herself. No, the roughneck wasn't worried about Quinn at all, and if Puck would pull his head out his ass for two seconds, he'd see that just because Q worked in a fancy-ass building, wore fancy-ass clothes, and made fancy-ass money, didn't mean she was some highfalutin, pretentious asshole. She was still just Quinn.

But then there was Brittany. And Santana couldn't ignore the fact that a major part of her irritation with Puck was because of what he said about the beautiful attorney. He hadn't even met the girl and already he pegged her as some sanctimonious bitch who didn't care about anyone outside of her social scene. It ticked her off that he could make those judgments about Brittany without knowing the first thing about her. Brittany wasn't like that at all.

Santana sighed as her gloved hands worked the piping into the well. But how much did she really know about the blonde anyway? She knew that Brittany was super easy to talk to and that they were both super awesome mega-geeks. She knew that the lawyer never talked down to her or made derogatory comments about what she did for a living. At least she hadn't yet. Brittany had even let Santana play with all the gadgets in her car so she couldn't be that possessive about her property or think Santana was that much of a moron. Those were all good things, right?

The roughneck couldn't help but smile at how much she really liked the girl and how well they got along, even for being so different. But before she could get too deep into her happy place, a little, grating, spiteful voice that sounded a heck of a lot like Puck started rattling in her ear. _Roughnecks __and __lawyers __just __don__'__t __mix_.

She let out another exhausted sigh. Maybe she was just fooling herself in all of this.

No one would ever accuse Santana of being modest or insecure. The girl exuded confidence in everything she did. And while most of the bravado was real, and Santana really was a badass in many respects, she was also more fragile internally than most would believe. While not complete projections, the swagger and cockiness were in part protection, preemptive devices that kept her safe and shielded. At times it felt like her entire self-image was an intricate but delicate house of cards, and any slight movement or light breeze could collapse the whole damn thing.

Santana shook herself quickly. She was being ridiculous. She and Brittany were barely friends. So what if she turned out to be a raving bitch who thought working folk were the dregs of society? That wouldn't bring down Santana Mother-Fucking Lopez. But even as the thought crossed her mind, she knew she'd be extremely hurt if that's how Brittany really felt.

_Fucking __Puck_—putting all of these unwanted thoughts in her head. It was starting to give her a migraine, and rather than deal with it any longer, Santana decided she'd done enough thinking for one day and put all of her focus back on her work instead. As she looked up and took everything in, she was surprised to see how much they had already accomplished and how close to quitting time it was.

The lawyer would be here soon, and she hoped to at least make herself somewhat presentable for her.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

"You okay?" Brittany's voice filled the small, lush cabin of the Lexus, breaking the awkward silence that had settled over the two occupants since she was greeted by a brisk "hey" as Santana's slid her weary body into the passenger seat.

Santana looked over and gave her a subdued smile. "'Course," she shrugged, turning to look back out her side window.

"It's just … you seem a little down. Did you have a hard day at work?"

"Everyday's a hard day at work. This ain't exactly an office job. It's not like we get to sit on our ass one day and drill the next. It's all hard work, every day," she said, her words coming out more harshly than she intended, and she felt terrible about her tone when she saw the sad, nervous look in the blonde's eyes.

Brittany bit her bottom lip, pulling the sensitive flesh between her teeth. She wasn't sure how things had changed so dramatically. The morning was fun and easy, and she'd been looking forward to picking the roughneck up all day. But now the air between them was tense and uncomfortable, Santana barely acknowledging her at all and then snapping at her when she did. It was all so confusing.

"I'm sorry," Brittany began hesitantly. "I didn't mean to suggest-"

"No, Britt," Santana cut her off, reaching out and wrapping her hand around the blonde's that rested on the gearshift between them. "I'm the one who's sorry. I've been a bitch this whole time and you're the one doing me a favor, and … I'm just sorry."

"Hey," Brittany said softly, turning her hand around to clasp the roughneck's, interlocking their fingers loosely. "It's okay. We all have bad days. Did anything happen that you want to talk about?" She squeezed Santana's hand and turned to look at her quickly, giving her a shy and what she hoped was an encouraging smile.

Santana smiled back and shook her head. "Nah," she replied. "Just a regular workday. Just tired, I guess." She let her eyes drift down to their linked hands. For a second, she felt a bit self-conscious at how rough her palms and fingertips must feel against the lawyer's baby-soft skin. And she wasn't exactly sure how long it was appropriate for them to be holding hands anyway—she didn't want to pull away prematurely and hurt the blonde's feelings, but she certainly didn't want to linger too long either.

Santana didn't really make a lot of female friends, and so she wasn't sure what was common and what might be overstepping friendly boundaries. But then Brittany started to move a long thumb back and forth against the side of her hand and down her wrist and she decided that she didn't really care anymore.

"I can't imagine what it's like up there all day," Brittany marveled. "It looks so scary and exhausting."

"It can be. But I'm pretty used to it. I'm just glad there's no batting practice tonight. My body's pretty beat."

Another hand squeeze. "I don't know how you got Sue to give us Friday nights off, but I'm eternally grateful."

Santana chuckled. "There's no way I'm giving up my Friday nights for anything. _But_," she paused dramatically, "I think that means she's gonna lay into us hard at tomorrow's practice."

"Oh God," Brittany moaned playfully, before glancing at the roughneck and grinning. "I thought you were running practice tomorrow."

"Well, I'm supposed to run you through the drills and Sue's supposed to 'supervise,'" she said, making bunny ears on "supervise." "I have a feeling that means bad things for all of us."

"No doubt," Brittany agreed.

They stopped at a light, and the blonde rolled her head to the side and smile over at the roughneck. As promised, Santana had changed out of her soiled work clothes and was now wearing a pair of dark, tight-fitting jeans and a white, long-sleeved v-neck. She was stunning and Brittany couldn't help but stare. She felt Santana squeeze her hand gently and looked up to see her tilt her head towards the windshield. Brittany blinked away and saw that the light had turned green. Giggling sheepishly, she accelerated through the intersection, shaking her head at how easily she could lose herself in the girl.

"So," Brittany began, "when are you planning on dropping by the office again?"

"I haven't really decided, but it has to be soon. According to an email I got from … Artie I think, I need to put in at least ten hours by our first game next Saturday. I was going to make time yesterday, but Sue insisted on batting practice instead." She shrugged. "Actually, I really need to hit the mall before putting in my time. I already wore my best pair of pants and shirt on Wednesday. I'm not really used to dressing up for an office and stuff." She could feel her cheeks grow hot and hoped her dark complexion masked her embarrassment. _Why __am __I __telling __her __this?_

Brittany was suddenly elated, however. She bounced in her seat and shook their entwined hands back and forth. "We should go shopping! I know the perfect shop to take you!"

Santana couldn't help but laugh at her enthusiasm. "You mean right now?"

"Yea! Um," the lawyer stopped abruptly, her thumb on the wheel started a nervous tapping, "unless you have other plans that is. I mean, _of __course_ you have plans. Duh, you requested Fridays off. I'm such an idiot sometimes." She shook her head and tensed both the hand on the wheel and the one holding Santana's.

"Hey, stop that. I actually don't have plans and even if I did, they'd probably suck in comparison to going shopping with you. It's pretty perfect really. Since you know what's appropriate for _Sylvester, __Bieste, __and __Schuester_," she lowered her voice at the name, giving it a mock-serious feel, making the blonde beside her laugh and forget her earlier worries, "you can help me pick out what's appropriate."

"Oh, something tells me you do pretty well dressing yourself." Brittany smiled cheekily, the roughneck having put her back at ease with her joking and playful attitude.

Santana snorted at the statement. "I got 'hardworking roughneck,'" she ticked off with one finger, counting down the kinds of clothing she felt more than equipped to pull off, "'badass butch,' 'causal comfort,'" she ran a hand up and down her body, indicating her current clothing, "and 'sexy seductress,'" she wagged her eyebrows at that last part, "all down pat. Unfortunately, 'temporary assistant at a high powered law firm' just isn't in my repertoire."

Brittany tried to hide her blush by ducking her head and letting her long hair shield the sides of her face. "Well, like I said, I know just the place."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Once Brittany made the turn, Santana knew she was in trouble. They had just turned down Dallas's equivalent of Rodeo Drive where a pair of socks would run you over 200 bucks. Hell, it probably cost a grand just to step into one of these stores and breathe their precious, purified air.

_Oh __fuck_, Santana thought to herself. She had always been smart with her money and so had accrued quite the nest egg. She just wasn't sure she wanted to blow it all on a blouse and a pair of pants. _Fuck, __fuck, __fuck._

Brittany pulled up outside a small boutique that specialized in professional wear for women and cut the engine. She was so excited all she could think about was how great Santana'd look in all of the outfits she'd make the other girl try on. She practically squealed with delight as she grabbed her purse and hopped out of the car, a sluggish Santana following behind.

The lawyer greeted the staff with a friendly nod and proceeded to the back of the small shop where racks of blazers and smart-looking blouses hung. A perky brunette sashayed up to the blonde and Brittany started throwing items over the young woman's outstretched arms.

"What do you think, Monica?" she said after filling the woman's arms with jackets and walking briskly to the tops. "My friend here's interning at the office. And while she should fit into the office vibe, she should also show off a bit of her own personality too. Nothing too risqué, but," she plucked a deep red camisole off a low table, "flattering nonetheless." She held the camisole up against the roughneck's chest.

Santana squirmed uncomfortably. Not only was she not used to the fawning, she was still figuring out how to get out of the store without embarrassing herself or having to take out a second mortgage on her house.

"Hm," Monica hummed, transferring the blazers to one arm and picking up another camisole, this one a rich, dark purple. "Definitely the red and maybe this aubergine."

_Purple, __just __say __purple_, Santana screamed in her head. She hated the pretention of the place, the smell of excess and superiority. Her skin prickled and if she didn't know any better she'd swear the store was giving her a rash. She rolled her shoulders and clenched her fists to keep herself from scratching.

"And the royal blue," Brittany jumped in, nodding at the clerk and throwing both camisoles onto her growing pile of clothes. "I want to hold off on the lighter shades for now. Although," she grabbed a pale pink blouse with a very low neckline. "I like this a lot." She threw it on Monica's arms and moved quickly to the pants and skirts.

"Definitely want a skirt," she turned and ran her eyes up Santana's jeans-clad legs. "Probably more. One pair of slacks should do and we'll just vary the skirts." She grabbed a few a-line and pencil skirts of varying lengths and colors before finally turning to the fidgeting roughneck and actually seeing her discomfort for the first time.

"Monica," she said absently, her eyes never leaving the roughneck, "could you put these in one of the dressing rooms? We'll be there in a minute."

The attendant scurried away dutifully, making sure not to wrinkle the items too much in her haste.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Brittany asked, reaching out to rub Santana's shoulder.

Santana sucked in her lips and tapped her heel rapidly against the plush carpet. She wasn't sure what to say, but she had to do _something_ and quick.

"Britt, I really, _really_ appreciate all your help with this. And everything's really nice and all," she said slowly.

"But?" Brittany interrupted, raising an eyebrow and smirking at her.

"_But_, all of this, it's not really me and I'm only going to be working there for a couple months at most. It's kind of a waste to get all of these things and only really use them a couple of times. I was really thinking of just grabbing some slacks and stuff from a Macy's or something." She spoke it all in a rush, trying to get out all of her objections before she lost her nerve.

Brittany chuckled at the flustered girl. She was just so freaking cute! "Just try them on and pick out the ones that really work. You don't have to get everything. Besides, Sue's kind of a stickler for image and pretty much dictates how we look when we're on the company dime. I only got the Lexus cuz it was on her list of acceptable vehicles. But don't worry," she was quick to assure, "she doesn't make the interns buy new cars. Only the junior and senior associates, and the partners, of course." With a wink and a shove, she pushed Santana into a spacious dressing room and demanded she "put on a show" for her.

_Great, __just __great_, Santana mused. _I__'__m __getting __bullied __by __Hot __Blonde __Lawyer __out __there __and __I __don__'__t __even __have __the __prospect __of __getting __laid __to __make __it __all __worth __it! __How __did __this __become __my __life? __Oh __yea, _fucking _Quinn!_

She huffed and stripped out of her comfortable after work clothes, leaning over to pick up a camisole. She took a moment to rub the material between her fingers and appreciate how absolutely soft and silky it was. In her perusal, however, she also noticed that there were no tags on the clothes which meant they probably cost more than her truck when it was brand new. _Fan-fucking-tastic!_

The roughneck grumbled through the entire fashion show, stalking out, throwing her arms up and spinning around reluctantly at Brittany's direction. She hated to admit how good she looked and how great everything felt on her body.

But Brittany was having a ball. From the exaggerated scowl on Santana's face to her petulant sulking, the lawyer found it all completely endearing. She even asked the girl to spin an additional time with her arms up high in the air just to see what kind of glare she'd received. What made this all the more enjoyable for her was the fact that no matter how much the roughneck seemed to hate this whole affair, there was no request she didn't fulfill. Brittany was almost 100 percent sure that if she asked the girl to hop on one leg and clap her hands together like a seal, Santana would shoot her a glare but end up doing it anyway.

"I like it," Brittany said, after Santana's quick twirl. "I think we definitely go with the red and purple, and one black one. Then a grey, a navy, and a black blazer. These skirts," she picked out the ones she wanted, four in total. "And these slacks," she said, holding up two pairs.

"I thought I only needed one!" It was the first full sentence Santana had spoken since being shuffled into the dressing room, and for the life of her she couldn't understand why _that_ was the first thing she chose to say. She couldn't afford any of this. Removing one pair of pants from the enormous list wasn't going to accomplish squat.

But her outburst only caused Brittany to chuckle. "I know, but you do want variety. If you have these two pants then the combinations you can make with the tops and blazers would be, like, endless. Trust me." She handed the clothing to Monica before turning back to the roughneck. "Change out of that quickly so we can check out."

"Okay, Brittany, we really need to talk here." Santana grabbed hold of the blonde's hand and ushered her to a low, padded bench before taking the seat next to her. "I really don't know how to say this without looking like an ass for all the work you and Monica put into all of this, so I guess I'm just gonna have to look like an ass." She took a deep breath, steeled her nerves and met Brittany's kind blue eyes. "I can't afford any of this. It was really nice of you to bring me here and all, and I should've said something as soon as we got here, and I'm so sorry I've wasted your time and poor Monica's time, but I really can't get anything. I'm sorry." Her shoulders slumped and she could no longer hold Brittany's gaze.

She expected a condescending pat on the back and pity-filled look, maybe a caustic remark for all the time they spent here for nothing. But what she didn't expect was full out laughter, like rolling on the floor in glee, wide-mouthed, gasping for air guffaws. Santana raised her eyes to Brittany whose face had flushed as she tried to catch her breath and dry her tears.

"Well, I'm glad my inadequacies amuse you," Santana said coolly.

"No, no, it's not that," Brittany said through her tears, reaching out quickly to reassure the girl. "Is that what you were so worried about this whole time? Oh sweetie, _no __one_ can afford this stuff! It's like a gazillion dollars a blouse. We're not paying for any of it."

"We're not?" Santana asked, confusion plain on her face. "Britt, if we were gonna pull a fast one, you should've told me _before_ Monica grabbed all the swag," she whispered conspiratorially.

"Just go change, silly. Meet me at the counter when you're through."

Santana was still in shock as she watched Brittany get up and walk towards the front of the store. She had no idea what was going on, but the lawyer didn't really give her any other choice but to trust her and just go with it.

Once she joined Brittany at the counter, the blonde pulled out a silver credit card and held it up proudly. "This, my friend, is a corporate credit card. All of the bills go to and get paid by the firm. So consider these," she gestured to the packages Monica was putting together, "welcome gifts from _Sylvester, __Bieste, __and __Schuester_." She smiled widely and handed the card over to Monica whose eyes glimmered at the commission she just made.

Santana cracked her first genuine smile since stepping into the store, exhaling deeply and feeling like a hundred pounds had been lifted right off her shoulders. "Well, why didn't you tell me that sooner? I could've torn this place up!" she laughed with Brittany. "Are you sure all of this is kosher? You're not going to get in any trouble are you?"

"No way," Brittany dismissed, signing the credit slip and placing the card back in her wallet. "Like I said, Sue keeps us on a pretty tight leash as far as appearances go. She only allows us to wear clothes from certain shops and designers, and in order to do that she's got to reimburse us. All of the image requirements she has are legitimate business expenses chargeable to the firm. So we're in the clear."

"But I don't technically work there."

"Sure you do. You're still going to be in the building as a paid employee and I'm sure Sue wants you to look the part. You can't look like a ringer, after all. Besides, you're our key to winning the softball tournament. Sue's gonna be thrilled that I'm taking such good care of you."

Brittany grabbed the bags from the clerk and Santana reached out and plucked them from her hands, leaning forward to open the door of the boutique for the lawyer.

"And if we don't win?" Santana asked.

"Then we're all moving to Vanuatu cuz Sue won't let any of us live if that happens." Brittany smiled at Santana, popping the truck for her to stuff the bags into.

"Vanuatu? Why there?"

"Non-extradition country. Good weather." She shrugged and hopped into the Lexus.

Santana climbed in and buckled up, chuckling. "You really got it all planned out, huh?"

"When you work for Sue Sylvester, you learn to cover all your bases real quick. I've got a whole bunch of contingency plans for any number of Sue Sylvester freak outs." Brittany winked at the roughneck and sat back in her seat. She drummed her fingers lightly against the wheel. She really didn't want their night to end, but she couldn't think of anything to prolong it that wouldn't seem too forward or awkward. "So, where to milady?" Brittany turned beet red. _Milady? __Really __Britt?_ It was all she could do to keep from smacking herself on the forehead and curse herself out.

Santana pursed her lips together to keep from laughing, but she couldn't stop the wide grin that stretched across her face. She put her elbow against the window and leaned her cheek against her fist, her eyes glittering at the blush that had traveled from the lawyer's cheeks to the tips of her ears.

"Guess I owe you a house tour, huh?"

Brittany sighed in relief. "Absolutely." She put the car in gear and Santana leaned forward to program her address into Sarah. She was surprised when she put the first few numbers in and a preexisting destination for "Santana's House" popped up. The roughneck looked over at Brittany and could tell the lawyer was trying not to look at her, her bright red ears continuing to burn under the attention.

Santana selected the link to her house and sat back. It had been a long, confusing day for her, and she was still so unsure of a lot of things. But the one thing she knew with 100 percent certainty was that Puck was a fucking dumbass.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thank you so much for reading this monster of a chapter! I hope you enjoyed it. Hopefully things don't feel too rushed or smushed together. I know it was a lot of get through. To everyone who has alerted and/or reviewed this story, a big heaping thank you, thank you, thank you! You all make my day and give me something to look forward when I update.**

**I really should be focusing on "The Quarterback" right now, but I'm kinda really into these ladies. I guess if the response is really high for this, I'll do one more chapter before turning back to my other story. (Wait, is she trying to bribe us into reviewing this story and/or "The Quarterback"? Damn straight she is! :)) So if you have the chance, please take a moment to review. I love hearing from you and I do take all of your input and suggestions to heart. Thanks again!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Awesome readers are awesome! Kisses for all!**

**Disclaimer**: Don't own the show nor am I affiliated with it in any way.

Chapter Five

Once they pulled up to Santana's house, she tapped Brittany gently on the hand. "You should probably pull into the garage. We don't get a lot of traffic here, but ya still never know. Don't want some kid getting ideas seeing this out in the drive."

Brittany shrugged. "Sure, whatever you want."

"Just let me run in and pull my truck out. Why don't you pull into the street for a bit so I can get out?" Santana opened her door and put one foot on the ground before she felt Brittany grab her forearm.

"San, you really don't have to move your car. I'm sure Sarah'll be fine. I really don't want to put you out."

Santana snorted. "Don't worry about it. No one's gonna touch my baby now, trust me." She rolled her eyes and Brittany could see the irritation in the roughneck's face. "I'll be right out."

It only took a minute before the large garage door rumbled and started to lift into the ceiling. Brittany backed up into the street as instructed and watched the back lights of a huge pickup truck creep towards her. As the roughneck swung the car around, Brittany caught sight of the ruined hood, blotches of pink paint marring what she could tell was once a shiny white. She grinned, amused by what she was sure would be a _really_ good story.

Santana had a large, two car garage, but as Brittany pulled in, she could see that the other half was taken up by gym equipment, including an intimidating-looking weight machine, a pull up bar, and a heavy punching bag hanging from the ceiling and connected to the floor by a thick chain. She was impressed by the clean set up and swung her gaze around to tell the roughneck so, but found she couldn't speak, could barely even breathe in that moment.

Santana stood in front of a lighted doorway that led into the house. She had her hands on her hips, the light behind her casting a stunning silhouette. It certainly looked like the roughneck made good use of all that gym equipment, the curve of her muscled arms visible even through her shirt.

Brittany thought she looked like some fantastical superhero in that moment. _Xena__'__s __got __nothing __on __her_, she mused, fully convinced that _that_ was how a warrior princess really looked.

Once Brittany finally secured the Lexus, Santana retrieved the packages from the trunk and transferred them to one hand, taking Brittany's hand in the other. She led the tall blonde through the garage, past a small mud room, and down a short hall before crossing through another threshold and entering a spacious, open kitchen. Santana flipped on some lights, dropped her bags, and stepped back, letting the beautiful woman take everything in for a moment.

From her vantage point in the kitchen, Brittany could practically see the whole first floor, the open layout keeping everything airy and bright. She spun around slowly, a small grin gracing her lips. It was a bit sparse, and there were a few unfinished projects—she could tell the roughneck was still working on the dining area off one side of the kitchen, capped wires hanging from the ceiling where a light fixture would go and stacks of floor molding that still needed to be affixed gathered neatly in a small corner—but the space was cozy and real. There was just something incredibly honest about it, and Brittany found herself breathing in deeply, taking in the rich scent of wood and cinnamon and … fabric softener. She grinned quietly to herself.

Her long, slender fingers coasted across the cool surface of the granite island in the middle of the kitchen before she slid around it and started to make her way towards what she assumed was the main living area, Santana following silently.

On the way, they passed a set of black and white photographs hung in an intentionally scattered design along the wall and Brittany stopped to examine each print. In one, a younger Santana stood in front of a large, overgrown lot, the long grass and tall weeds brushing against her waist. There was nothing particularly extraordinary about the lot, aside from its obvious neglect, and for the lawyer it faded into the background to the point that the only thing Brittany was seeing was the roughneck.

She couldn't take her eyes off her. The girl was skinny, certainly not as muscular as she was today, and her cheeks were fuller, softer, her jaw line not as pronounced. Brittany guessed that Santana had to be in her late teens there.

Light eyes sparkled, even in black and white, and the lawyer found herself smiling back at the girl in the picture. The dark-haired girl stood with her arms out wide, as if showing off the abandoned field. Her smile was wide and uninhibited, making her cheeks dimple and revealing a neat row of teeth. She looked so happy and even a little self-satisfied standing hip-deep in dandelions and ragweed and Brittany couldn't help but chuckle at how sweet it all was.

After a moment, the lawyer moved on to the next picture and had to lean in close to make sure she was seeing what she thought she was seeing. The snapshot had captured an enormous bulldozer in the process of clearing a field, rolling up patches of dark soil and leaving a semi-cleared path behind it. But what startled Brittany was that behind the controls, looking so tiny enveloped by the huge machine was someone who looked an awful like Santana. She turned wide, blue eyes to the roughneck who was smiling shyly at her side. Santana nodded slowly, ducking her head at Brittany's stunned look.

As the blonde made her way through all of the photographs, she soon realized that she was seeing the life story of this very house, of Santana's home. And apparently Santana had her hands in all of it. There she was, cutting lumber with a circular saw in one shot and hammering in planks on a huge deck in another. And as the house took shape and developed, so did the roughneck, becoming stronger and darker in each picture, the strenuous work and constant exposure to the sun showing itself on her body.

Brittany's favorite photograph by far had Santana standing high on the framed out roof of the house. She was decked out in a wifebeater and baggy jeans, hardhat perched on her head, heavy tool belt slung low on her hips, and hammer hanging loosely in hand. She had her head bent, examining her work, so her face was partially obscured by the hardhat, but Brittany could still make out the slope of her nose and her pouty lips. The camera caught the roughneck straight on, her strong shoulders and lean arms on clear display, and Brittany had to remind herself to breathe once again. She was sure it was the sexiest thing she'd ever seen.

"You built this?" she asked, her voice a little hoarse but still laced with wonder.

Santana lowered her head and scuffed her foot into the hardwood floor. She shoved her hands deep in the pockets of her jeans and shrugged. "Well, not by myself, of course." Her cheeks were getting hot and she tried her best to contain her grin. "Come on," she tugged on Brittany's elbow and motioned her forward with a flick of her head. "I'll tell you about it after you see the place. Everything's up to code, though. So you don't have to worry about falling through the floorboards or anything," she said with a wink.

They continued into the living space and Brittany's eye was immediately drawn to an immense built-in that included bookshelves and an entertainment center, and framed a squat but long stone fireplace and the sleek, flatscreen TV mounted above it. Two long couches and a couple of club chairs gave structure to the open space, giving it distinction from the rest of the room.

There was obviously a lot of work and care put into everything included in the young woman's home, and Brittany couldn't help but feel that she was getting a special, inside look at the roughneck, and she moved through it slowly, determined to soak it all in.

As she moved further into the space, she smiled at the red hoodie thrown casually over the back of one of the chairs and the pile of laundry she assumed Santana had been folding piled on one end of the couch. She heard a sheepish "oops" before Santana scampered forward and started sweeping the clothes off of the couch and into a nearby laundry basket.

Brittany shook her head, reaching out to still the roughneck's hasty cleaning. "Leave it," she said softly.

There was an old-wood coffee table in the middle of all the seating. Beneath a clutter of magazines, bills, and old supermarket flyers, Brittany could make out a swirling, fiery pattern to the wood. It looked like the organically-shaped table was a cross-section of a massive tree with deep reds and oranges and dark, almost-black browns streaked and speckled throughout.

"This is amazing," she marveled, brushing her fingertips against the glossy, lacquered wood.

Santana leaned up against the bookcase, crossing her arms over her chest, content to follow the tall blonde with her eyes as Brittany wandered around her home. "It's redwood burl. You normally don't find them this big, but I got lucky." Santana's voice rumbled through the quiet room, the openness seeming to magnify its deep, raspy growl. She pushed off the wall and approached the blonde slowly.

"The guy who found it needed engine work done on his tractor, and I was able to barter my time and a few used parts for this beauty. I made the stand and finished it off myself." She squatted next to the piece, sweeping some of the clutter aside so they could see the fiery colors and natural patterning.

"Well it's stunning. All of it is, really," Brittany replied, turning and gesturing around the large room.

She took another broad, sweeping look at the first level, loving the juxtaposition of the beautiful craftsmanship and thoughtful finishes against the messy table and clothes-covered furniture. Everything just felt cared for and lived in. It felt like a home. Something Brittany only realized in that moment that she was sorely missing in her uber-modern, high-rise apartment. Sure, it had every technological convenience and a chic, contemporary design, but none of that made it feel like an actual home. It was pretty but cold, and she couldn't help but wonder what that might suggest about her and the life she was living.

"It's all really beautiful, San" she whispered, turning shy eyes to the roughneck.

Santana blushed at the compliment, dusting her hands against her thighs before pushing off and standing. "Well, as you can see, there's still some work to be done and a lot of space to fill, but it's getting there." She reached out and took the lawyer's hand once again. "So, I'm not really great at giving tours—you'll be my first," she smiled playfully, "but I figure I'll just give you the highlights and then you can snoop around as much as you like on your own cuz I'm pretty sure you're gonna do it anyway."

Suddenly Santana's grin turned a little wicked and Brittany couldn't help but return the smirk and raise an eyebrow in question.

"Of course," Santana continued, "if you don't want to see anything too … _colorful_," she wagged her brows, "I'd recommend you avoid the bedroom drawers." After a quick beat, "and the walk-in closet." She scrunched her nose and pursed her lips in thought. "And probably the master bath." Finally, she raised her arms in defeat, "I guess if you don't want to see a show, probably just a quick look at my bedroom is best."

Brittany could feel her cheeks warm and she struggled to keep from grinning stupidly, her curiosity _definitely_ piqued.

"But first things first." Santana pulled Brittany along. "So kitchen," she threw an arm back behind them, "dining area," sweeping her arm to the left of the kitchen, "living room," spreading both arms wide. "We'll check out the upstairs in a second, but I wanted to show you the best part of the house first."

It felt strange to Santana, how easily she got over her initial apprehension and took the girl's hand without too much forethought. Of course, touching women wasn't anything new to her. In fact, she pegged herself an expert. But with Brittany, the simple brushes of hands or tickling of fingertips across her skin seemed to both electrify and calm her, and Santana was getting accustomed and addicted to the sensations.

She threaded her calloused, weathered fingers through the delicate softness of Brittany's and led her to a set of sliding glass doors that opened up onto a beautiful deck. The roughneck dropped the blonde's hand reluctantly and hit the lights, bathing the outdoor space in a gentle glow.

The cicadas were out, their familiar refrain filling the otherwise quiet night. Brittany stepped out and wandered over to the far railing, resting her forearms against the smooth wood and peering out into the darkness.

Although the deck was fully illuminated, Brittany couldn't see very far out into Santana's property. She noted the well maintained grass, the small cluster of Red Bud trees off to one side, and cedar fencing around the sides of the yard. Try as she might, she couldn't see where the fencing ended, her vision obscured by the darkness and the gently sloping hills in the yard.

"How big's this place?" Brittany asked.

"I got an acre and a half now. But I'm thinking of buying the lot next door and doing like a mini-ranch thing. You know, getting a couple of horses, maybe putting in a duck pond or something." She shrugged. "Nothing too serious."

"I think that sounds amazing," Brittany breathed wistfully. "It's already so beautiful out here I don't think I ever want to leave." Her voice tapered off softly and she ducked her head, embarrassed by how it all sounded. "I mean, it's just so peaceful out. I don't know how you tear yourself away."

Santana leaned back against the railing, facing Brittany as Brittany looked out into the darkness. "I know what you mean." She smiled gently at the blonde before tapping the back of her hand on the girl's hip to get her attention. "Let's finish the tour and we can come back out later."

Back inside, they took a look at a mostly unfurnished den and bypassed a bathroom before climbing the stairs that would take them to the bedrooms and another full bath. Once they got to her room, Santana stopped Brittany and motioned for her to get behind her. She opened the door a _teeny_, _tiny_ bit and stuck her head through, taking a quick peek to gauge the level of messiness she left it in. Her bed was unmade and clothes were spilling out of her closet, but it wasn't in the worst shape it's ever been in and at least all of her, let's just say "accoutrements", seemed to be tucked away appropriately.

"Well, it ain't the Ritz and you'll have to mind the mess, but it ain't too bad." She winked and pushed the door open all the way, the blonde slipping past her and hurrying into the room before the roughneck could change her mind. Santana laughed at the girl's excitement and rushed in after her, quickly moving to her closet and kicking the clothes inside. She pushed against the French doors, continuing to shove clothes in with her foot. Finally, she turned around and leaned back against it, using her body weight to wedge the doors closed enough for the lock to catch and hold everything in.

Brittany was charmed by the roughneck's efforts. Truthfully, she liked the mess, and it really wasn't that bad at all. It wasn't like the girl had dust bunnies in the corners or old bits of food lying around. The blonde shuddered at the thought—spoiled food gave her the willies and she never understood how something as disgusting as accumulated hair and dust and old flaked off bits of skin could be compared to cute, cuddly little bunnies. Gross.

But like the rest of the house, Santana's room simply looked lived in, without pretense or pretention. Just like the roughneck.

"I like it," Brittany said simply, sitting on the corner of Santana's bed, stretching her arms behind her and leaning back. She noticed a guitar reclining on the nightstand at the head of the bed and opened her mouth to question it, but the roughneck drew her attention before she had a chance.

"Thanks," Santana mumbled absently, pulling the corner of her comforter over and tucking it in, trying to make the bed a little more presentable. "There's a small balcony through there if you wanna take a look," she jutted her chin out towards the gauzy, white curtains on the other side of the bed.

The blonde pulled back the curtains and opened the glass doors that led to a good-sized balcony with a set of reclining wood chairs and low table. She turned around in the doorway, watching the brunette scuttle around, picking up a stray glass and taking it into the en suite. Blue eyes fell to the roughneck's backside, and Brittany cocked her head to the side, following the luscious curves until it disappeared from view.

When Santana emerged from the bathroom, she found Brittany leaning against the door jam to the balcony, grinning goofily to herself, her eyes gone a bit foggy. She moved forward and reached out a hand which Brittany grabbed instinctively, not really registering the other girl's presence and starting slightly at the feel of Santana's warm hand in hers. The blonde blinked quickly and straightened up, flushing slightly at being caught daydreaming about the roughneck.

"Come on," Santana whispered, her chocolate brown eyes taking hold of cobalt blues and not letting go.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

"Let's see, we got soda, beer, lemonade—it's from a package," she pulled her head out of the fridge and scrunched her nose at the blonde before stepping back and checking the cupboards. "Liquor for cocktails. Shoot! You probably want wine, huh? I don't have any," she said, biting her lip.

Brittany chuckled at the girl's adorable panic. "That's okay. I actually hate the stuff. It kinda stinks," she wiggled her nose. "Why'd you think I'd want wine anyway?"

"I dunno. Isn't that what, like, fancy, professional people drink?"

"Well, I'm not all that fancy." Brittany smiled, turning to watch Santana mess around in the kitchen for a second before going back to her snooping. She figured she was given the go-ahead to poke around and shouldn't waste the opportunity. "Beer sounds great," she said distractedly.

The lawyer was currently inspecting the girl's bookcases, running her fingers across their spines and mouthing the titles as she went. _Harry __Potter_ (of course), _The __Complete __Maus_, the _Sandman_ and _Queen __and __Country_ collections, Stieg Larsson's _The __Girl __with __the __Dragon __Tattoo_ series. _Not bad, _she mused.

"Sweet." Santana grabbed a lime and cut out some wedges before grabbing two ice cold Coronas. "Wanna sit outside for a bit?" she called out, already moving towards the deck.

Brittany nodded, but as she started towards the sliding doors something wedged deep in the bookshelf caught her eye. Long fingers reached in and tugged the object out, curiosity getting the better of her. It was a VHS tape, which only intrigued the blonde more. She didn't even see a VHS player in the entertainment center.

Santana placed their beers on a short table in between two chaises out on the deck, turning around in confusion when she didn't see the blonde behind her. "Britt?" she called out. After drying her hands on her jeans, she stuck her head back into the house, "hey Britt?"

The lawyer had pulled the tape out of its jacket and twisted her lips in disappointment when she didn't see a label. When she heard Santana call out to her, she looked up to see the roughneck approaching.

"What ya got there?" Santana asked, smiling at the blonde's furrowed brow and scrunched up lips. _She__'__s __just __so __cute!_

"Dunno," Brittany shrugged. "What's this?" she said, handing the tape out to Santana. Even with the girl's dark complexion, Brittany could see her turning a hot, deep red.

Santana slipped the tape from Brittany's fingers, bringing it to her thigh and tapping it against her leg anxiously. "Um," she started, shuffling her feet and looking anywhere but at the blonde in front of her.

Suddenly Brittany's eyes went wide. She gasped, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth before grabbing Santana by the wrist. "That's not … it's not a …," she stuttered before swallowing and trying again. "That's not a _sex __tape_ is it?" Her heart was hammering in her chest and she didn't quite understand why. Part of her was shocked—she couldn't imagine ever having the guts to record herself in such compromising, _revealing_ positions—and part of her began to flush at the thought of what Santana could be doing in the tape. She gulped and licked her lips, feeling like she was sucking on cotton balls all of a sudden.

"What!" Santana shouted. "Are you crazy? Of course not!" She moved to the bookshelf and placed the tape back into its little hiding place. "I get enough trouble from women as is. Could you imagine what they'd do to me if they had a sex tape to work with?"

Brittany was mortified. How could she jump such conclusions? She probably just royally insulted the roughneck. "Sorry. I'm sorry. It's just, you seemed so embarrassed and it's not marked or anything and it was kinda hidden away and after your warning about your bedroom-"

"Brittany." Santana took her hand, having gotten over her initial shock. "It's okay. I'm not mad or anything. Just surprised that _that__'__s_ where your mind went." She smiled softly at Brittany's discomfort. "It's really okay. I just have one question though." At the woman's nod, she continued, "just how old would I have to be for me to have a sex tape on _VHS_?"

The lawyer finally relaxed at the roughneck's teasing, chuckling at the absurdity of the situation.

"I don't know. I wasn't thinking clearly!" she laughed. "Besides, who has VHS tapes at all anyway? Sex tape was as good a guess as any at that point." She shrugged, crossing her arms over her chest and trying to be a little smug. "So what is it then?"

Santana scratched the back of her neck and darted her eyes away. "Um, it's nothing really. Hey, let's head out back before the beer gets warm," she tried to distract the blonde, grabbing her hand and trying to pull her forward.

"Oh come on," Brittany teased, refusing to let it go. "I already thought it was a sex tape. It can't be _more_ embarrassing than that." She paused before speaking in a low, conspiratorial voice and wagging her eyebrows, "can it?"

The roughneck rolled her eyes, letting out an exaggerated, annoyed sigh. "It's just … it'stheseriesfinaleof_Xena_," she mumbled, looking away.

"What? I didn't get any of that," Brittany laughed.

"It's the series finale of _Xena_, okay," she said in a huff.

Brittany couldn't contain her giggles, but she still didn't understand why Santana was keeping a recording from 2001. "Well why is it on VHS, silly? Don't you own the series on dvd?"

"Of course I own the series on dvd, what kind of fan do you think I am?" Santana said, mildly offended. "It's just …. I recorded the finale when it first aired but could never bring myself to watch it. I just didn't want to see that happen to her, you know? Never felt right. So I kept putting it off and telling myself I'd watch it eventually." She shrugged, stuffing her hands back into her pockets. "Just never got around to it, I guess, and it didn't feel right throwing it out, even after I got the dvds."

The lawyer was completely charmed by the roughneck. "So sentimental," she whispered, reaching out slender fingers and tucking away a stray hair that had fallen across the roughneck's cheek. "Do you still have a VHS player?"

Santana nodded, "boxed up in the garage."

"Let's watch it sometime. Together," Brittany said, smiling. "I'm not gonna lie, it's rough," she warned, "but I think I can get you through it." She bumped her shoulder against Santana's.

Santana ducked her head, her cheeks still warm from her admission. They dimpled in the coy smile she couldn't seem to wipe from her face. "That could be cool." She stretched her hand out to the blonde who grabbed it firmly. "Now let's head out. We can pretend we're in the UK as we drink our room-temp beers."

They plopped down on the two chaises and sat back, the lawyer kicking off her heels and sighing contently. "Cheers," she said, raising her beer, awaiting the satisfying clink of Santana's bottle against hers. "This really is an awesome place, San. It's nothing like what I expected. I mean it's a lot of house and you're … well you're…." Brittany pursed her lips and looked away, pretty sure she was sticking her foot in it at the moment.

Santana tightened her grip on her beer, flicking her thumbnail under the corner of the label. The muscles in her neck tensed as she anticipated the lawyer's next words, hoping against hope that she wasn't about to say something about the roughneck's education or job. It always smarted when Puck was proven right, but if it was true this time it'd really fucking hurt. She didn't want to believe that Brittany could be as narrow-minded and judgmental as he'd assumed.

Eventually, Brittany blew out a long breath, making her lips flutter. "You're just _so_ _young_ and to already have your own home," she sighed at her inability to articulate herself well, "it's just … well, really impressive." She clutched her beer and shook her head. "I'm still renting and you built a house!" Her eyes were wide and Santana could hear the admiration in her voice.

She relaxed at Brittany's words. _Suck __it, __Puckerman_, she cheered to herself. "It ain't nothing, really. People work at different paces, want different things. I just always wanted my own place, you know?" Santana leaned back on the chaise and bent an arm behind her head.

"When you grow up blue collar you learn not to dream too big. There's just too much shit to do." She sighed wearily. "There's work to find and bills to pay and crap to fix. But if you got land and a house," Santana looked up at Brittany, her deep brown eyes sparkling in the dim light, "you got _something_, you know? You accomplished _something_," she finished softly before taking a long, slow pull off her beer.

They sat for a moment, listening to the cicadas and their own gentle breathing. Brittany was surprised by how much the roughneck was willing to reveal to her and so she sat quietly, not wanting to break the comfort and risk distracting the girl from her story.

"Anyway," Santana began again, "as soon as I started earning, I started saving. Started watching that Suze Orman. You heard of her?"

She smiled and nodded.

"Yea, well, I saved all I could and ended getting the lot when I was 19. It was pretty rough and, like, no one was buying real estate at the time, so I picked it up pretty cheap. Got a lot of friends in construction, and so we tried to do as much as we could ourselves on our days off and stuff. It's taken a long-ass time, but in the end it's exactly what I want and it's pretty satisfying knowing how much of me is in the place."

Santana blushed at how long she'd been going on for. She wasn't usually a chatty person, least of all about herself, but something about Brittany made her want to share, made her want the lawyer to know and understand her.

"That's really great, San."

They sat for a moment, sipping quietly and simply letting the sounds of the night wash over them. Santana suggested ordering a pizza which the blonde readily agreed to and they cracked open a couple more beers as they waited.

"So, your turn Miss Brittany." The roughneck smirked. "I just realized I don't even know your last name which is totally unfair." She rolled her head to the side to look at the blonde. "Tell me something about yourself."

Brittany could feel herself blushing at the attention, something she'd been doing far too much in front of the roughneck. She felt like a big doof around Santana half the time and she needed to find a way to control herself better around her if only to preserve a bit of her pride.

"I don't know how much there is to tell, really," she shrugged. "It's Pierce, by the way." At Santana's confused look, she clarified, "Brittany Pierce."

"That's a start, Pierce. That's a start," Santana said, tipping her beer back and grinning into the lip.

"Well, what do you want to know exactly?"

_Everything_. The thought surprised Santana but she didn't let it show. She swallowed her beer. "You're lucky I like you, Pierce. I'll give you an easy one to start. How'd you end up at _Sylvester, __Bieste, __and __Schuester_?"

Brittany bit her lip and smiled. "It was actually kind of a fluke. Quinn and I were in law school at UT-Austin and she was like in the top five percentile for pre-bar students and had recruiters from law firms all over the country trying to woo her. My grades weren't that great," she admitted, picking at an imaginary thread at the hem on her skirt.

"I just do better with people, and I know the stuff, I do," she shook her head in frustration. "I just don't test really well. My mind freezes up like an old computer that's given too much to process at once." She flashed her eyes to the roughneck quickly before continuing. "So there wasn't a lot of interest in me, which was fine. I was just hoping to pass the bar and get work at a small firm or maybe hook up with the public defenders' office in some tiny, little town somewhere."

"Something amazing must have happened then," Santana encouraged, making the blonde smile.

"Well as fate would have it, I was paired against Quinn in a mock trial for one of our classes and it happened to be during the week the recruiters from _SBS_ were there."

"Oh please tell me you kicked Quinn's ass. Please, please, please, please, please." Santana put her palms together and tapped her fingers against her lips in anticipation.

"Well, like I said, I don't really test well, but I do know my stuff and I'm much better in front of people than in some blue book exam. So …"

"You totally kicked her ass?"

Brittany nodded, not wanting to gloat but feeling really proud of the accomplishment nonetheless.

"Yes," Santana cheered, pumping her fist at the news.

"Stop," Brittany laughed, slapping the roughneck on the shoulder. "_Anyway_, they ended up offering both of us positions by the end of the trial and we've been with them ever since."

"Awesome, Britt." She reached her bottle out and smiled as the blonde leaned forward and tapped it with her own.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

"I can't believe how late it is," Brittany said, letting out a yawn before stretching her long arms above her head and moaning contently. They'd finished off the pizza and the last of Santana's Coronas about an hour ago and had been happy just talking and enjoying each other's company. "What time's practice tomorrow?" she asked.

"Nine," Santana replied, covering her mouth and matching Brittany's jaw-cracking yawn.

"Perfect," Brittany muttered sarcastically. "I better be heading out if I'm gonna get any sleep before then." She smiled sweetly. "I had a really great time tonight, San. Thanks for having me over."

"I had fun too, Britt," she whispered back.

The tall blonde slipped on her heels and stood, twisting at the waist to work the kinks out of her back. She turned to go back into the house when she felt the rough, familiar touch of Santana's hand on her wrist.

"Stay."

It was said so quietly Brittany almost thought she'd imagined the sound before looking up into Santana's questioning, hopeful brown eyes.

The roughneck cleared her throat and stepped back, releasing Brittany's wrist. "Um, I mean you should stay here. In the guest room. Since it's so late and all." She reached around and rubbed the back of her neck nervously. "'Sides, I kinda need a ride to the ballpark tomorrow." Her lips quirked into a shy grin.

"You're really cute," Brittany sighed, stiffening immediately and closing her eyes tightly, trying to will herself to disappear on the spot. "Um...".

"Well, don't tell anyone," Santana teased. "Got a rep to uphold, and cute and badass don't really go together." She smiled and bumped the girl with her shoulder. "Come on, let's get you set up in the guest room. You can borrow some pajamas and get comfy."

They cleaned up quickly and headed upstairs, stopping by Santana's room for a pair of sweats and oversized t-shirt before setting Brittany up in the room next door.

"You should have everything you need here," Santana said, leaning against the door jam as Brittany stepped into the room, pajamas in hand. "But I'll leave my door open in case something comes up."

"Thanks, San. This is perfect." She placed the clothes on the bed and turned to the roughneck, rocking back and forth on her heels, finding herself suddenly shy.

"Well," Santana started, straightening up and pushing off from the doorway, "I guess I'll leave you to it." Her dark brown eyes captured twinkling blues and she smiled softly. "Sweet dreams, Brittany."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I hoped you enjoyed the Brittana interaction. Not sure if I should apologize for all the Xena references or not. :) Hopefully it wasn't too hard to follow for those of you unfamiliar with the show (go watch it; it's super fun!). More of the crew from _Sylvester, __Bieste, __and __Schuester_ will be featured next chapter. I was blown away by all of your lovely reviews! Please keep them coming and let me know what you think and how I'm doing. I'm open to suggestions too. You all are the best!**


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Santana pounded a fist into her pillow, trying to stamp out nonexistent lumps and release some pent up energy. A single, dark brown eye peeked opened and glared at the bright orange numbers of her alarm clock. _Fuck_.

The roughneck was frustrated. She'd been trying to fall asleep for that past hour and no matter what she did, she couldn't get comfortable. After bidding Brittany good night, Santana had changed into soft bedclothes and slipped under cool sheets. As she had sunk into the softness of her bed, she was distracted by a sudden throbbing in her shorts. With all the time she spent doting on her truck and fitting in batting practices and _Sylvester, Bieste, and Schuester_ visits, she hadn't had as much time to get her game on and this lack of physical attention was making itself known in the worst way. She thought back to the last time she got laid and was dismayed to realize her last hook-up was with that sorority girl from the basket ball courts a full four days ago.

_Fuck_. As soon as she felt the insistent pull in her belly, she regretted the open-door policy she just offered Brittany. If she could just close the door and tend to herself, she'd drift off into blissful sleep, she was sure of it. But thinking about the beautiful blonde was doing nothing to alleviate her current state. It made her think of long, lean legs wrapped around her waist, soft curves under her hands and lips, hot, slender fingers gripping her neck and hips and …

_Fuck!_ She turned from her side to her back to her stomach to her side and repeated the process countless times before finally grabbing the pillow under her head with both hands and shaking it violently. She huffed in exasperation and threw it across the room where it hit the closet door with a soft thump.

Across the hall, Brittany wasn't faring much better. But it wasn't sexual frustration keeping her up; it was giddy, thrumming delight that made her smile and giggle into her pillow. Her mind wouldn't stop replaying the events of the evening and she rolled onto her side and clutched the blankets to her chest, rubbing her face in the soft material and breathing in deeply. She was surrounded by cinnamon and fabric softener and something only identifiable as Santana. The roughneck was just so exciting and charming and adorable. She sighed wistfully into the fluffy blankets.

After a moment of quiet, perfect contentment, however, the smile dropped from her face and she rolled onto her back to stare at the ceiling. Santana was beautiful and fun and too many things she shouldn't be. At least not to Brittany. The lawyer wasn't used to the intensity of feelings the roughneck inspired in her and she knew she shouldn't indulge in it—it was all kinds of inappropriate—but she couldn't seem to resist the young woman. Just as she couldn't resist the wide grin that fought its way back on her face at the thought of the stunning, goofy, sexy dork sleeping across the way.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

The morning was a blur for both women. They each ducked their head out of their respective rooms at the same moment and shouted "we're late" to each other before ducking back into their rooms to get ready.

Santana threw her hair up into a messy ponytail, pulling out a drawer with the top of her knee. She rummaged through it and threw on a worn AC/DC t-shirt with the sleeves cut off and a pair of tight-fitting sweats. She grabbed an extra pair of cotton socks and the first large t-shirt she could find before hesitating a moment and snatching up a razorback sports bra and dashing out of her room to knock on Brittany's door. She thrust the clothes at the startled blonde, mumbled "keep the sweatpants," and ran down to the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee.

Brittany stepped back into her room and looked at the items in her hands. She couldn't stop the giggle bubbling up from her chest as she fiddled with Santana's rather voluptuous bra. She set it aside on the bed with the socks and picked up the olive green shirt the roughneck gave her. "Roughnecks Drill It Better" was emblazoned on the front with the image of an immense black drill plunging into a well, dark liquid spewing up from around the mechanical pipe printed on the back. Brittany didn't think a mechanical oil rig could look obscene but whoever fashioned the shirt was certainly doing their best to change her mind.

She dressed quickly, smirking at how Santana's sports bra poofed out and bunched with the excess material in the cups. She gathered her work clothes in her arms and made her way downstairs. Luckily she had a pair of cross-trainers in her trunk due to Sue's early morning workouts and they could head straight to the field without stopping by her apartment.

Brittany made her way down to join Santana in the kitchen, her sock-covered feet padding softly on the hardwood floors. She could see a dark head bobbing around open cabinets and couldn't stop the smile that tugged at her pouty, pink lips. The roughneck's exposed arms flexed as the short girl reached up and pulled down two travel mugs, and Brittany took a moment to admire the sight. She could hear Santana singing softly to herself as she approached, the roughneck's raspy, rich voice drifting through the open kitchen.

_She's got eyes of the bluest skies  
>As if they thought of rain<br>I hate to look into those eyes  
>And see an ounce of pain<em>

Brittany leaned against a wooden support bean and smiled, her eyes glued to the sway of the girl's hips as she moved to her own tune.

_Her hair reminds me of a warm safe place  
>Where as a child I'd hide<br>And pray for the thunder  
>And the rain<br>To quietly-_

Santana spun around mid-lyric and came to a halt in front of the smirking blonde. "Oh shit," she mumbled, startled at the sight of the lawyer which made her juggle the coffee mugs in her grasp. Brittany reached out quickly and grabbed her hands, helping to steady the mugs and holding on tightly.

"Sorry about that," Brittany said with a smile, reluctant to remove her hands from the roughneck's but realizing that she no longer needed the assistance. "You really have a beautiful voice, Santana," she said softly.

The roughneck blushed and ducked her head. "Didn't hear ya come down," she replied sheepishly, embarrassed by Brittany's compliment and being caught goofing around. She handed Brittany one of the coffees. "This one's yours. You about ready?"

The lawyer took the coffee and gave it a tentative taste test. "Mm," she hummed, happy that the roughneck remembered how she liked it. "Yup. Let's hit it!"

Santana smirked at the slight double entendre. She'd give her left tit to be able to "hit it" with Brittany, but she knew the lawyer was off limits. That little fact didn't actually bother her as much as she thought it would. With sex off the table, she felt oddly liberated around lawyer. Santana never spent any real time around her hookups and she'd _never_ reveal just how much of a dork she was to a fling. It was a nice surprise to learn how much she had in common with Brittany and if she'd _have to_ abstain from her, at least Brittany was a pretty cool gal. It had been a long time since Santana had made a female friend, and for now she was happy simply enjoying the warmth that blossomed in her chest whenever Brittany was near.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

After some crafty driving, and Sarah's impeccable directions, they arrived at the park with a few minutes to spare, and both let out a relieved breath seeing that they weren't the last to arrive.

The softball field was open with high fencing only along home plate in order to protect spectators from errant pitches, foul balls and missed throws home. Dugouts were erected on either side of home plate and a few _Sylvester, Bieste, and Schuester_ employees were clustered around the home team dugout.

They stepped out and Santana retrieved an enormous duffel from the trunk.

"Go on ahead," she said, gesturing to the field with a nod of her head. "Gonna have a quick smoke. I'll meet ya there," she explained, dropping the bag at her feet and pulling out a pack of smokes from the duffel.

"You sure you don't want me to wait with you?"

"Nah," Santana shook her head. "I'll just be a sec."

Brittany nodded and made her way to where Quinn, Kurt, Rachel, and a couple other lawyers were chatting.

"Hi guys," she said cheerily, waving at the group. "Hey Janelle, back from New York already?" she asked the petite redhead standing next to Quinn. Janelle Cordray had just started her second year with the firm and Sue had decided to test her chops by assigning her a client that split his time between Dallas and Manhattan. The tenacious redhead reveled in the challenge even though it meant most of her time was spent shuttling between the two sites.

"Flew in yesterday," she confirmed. "To some, that might be reason enough to get a pass from softball practice, but not to Sue." She shook her head as the others chuckled lightly.

Quinn smiled along until she got a good look at Brittany's clothes. Her narrowed eyes raked over the sweats riding high on the lawyer's ankles and the bulky shirt with the off-color slogan. She pursed her lips, not wanting to believe what her eyes were telling her.

"What are you _wearing_?" Kurt asked, stealing the question off Quinn's lips and chuckling at the unusual attire. "You look like you dressed in your younger brother's clothes," he joked.

Brittany blushed and grinned softly. "They're Santana's. We didn't have time to stop by my place to change." She tugged at the bottom of her shirt and looked down at it. "I think it's kinda cute."

"Why are you wearing Santana's clothes?" Quinn asked, the sudden tension in her body revealing itself in the straightness of her back and tightness of her jaw. There was an edge to her voice that Brittany'd never heard before.

The tall blonde furrowed her brow in confusion. "I told you. We didn't have time-"

Before she could repeat the reason, Quinn cut her off. "Why were you with Santana at all?"

"Oh," Brittany said, smiling shyly at the memories of the night before. "I spent the night at her place."

The collective jaws of the group dropped simultaneously, their eyes wide with disbelief.

"What?" Brittany asked, not knowing why they were acting so weird.

Quinn was the first to recover from the shock and she turned on her heel and stomped off in search of the roughneck. _I'm gonna kill her,_ she thought.

"What's going on?" Brittany demanded, surprised by the apparent irritation and quick departure of her friend. "Why are you guys acting like this?"

"You had _sex_ with Santana?" Rachel asked in what was supposed to be a whisper but ended up coming out as an incredulous shout.

"What!" Brittany yelled, equally unprepared for how loud her voice was. She looked over her shoulder, hoping no one was eavesdropping on their conversation. "What?" she asked in a lower tone. "I didn't have sex with her. We were just hanging out. What's _wrong_ with you?"

Rachel grimaced at Brittany's outrage. "Of course, of course," she stuttered quickly. "I didn't mean to imply that you'd …. I'm sorry. I know you wouldn't do something like that." She ducked her head apologetically.

Brittany lowered her eyes and bit her lip. She dug the toe of her shoe into the dirt, uncomfortable with the insinuation but also with the unexpected and complex feelings she seemed to be developing for the roughneck.

"I mean, it's just that Santana certainly has a … _presence_ about her, and it's easy to see how one could get caught up in her rather impressive allure," Rachel rambled on awkwardly.

"No kidding," Kurt interjected. "She even had me questioning my sexuality for a second." He fanned himself with the fingers of hishand.

"Kurt!" Rachel exclaimed.

"What? You weren't there, Rachel. You didn't see how she was handling that bat. And that is not a euphemism, by the way," he smiled at his own joke. "There's just something incredibly sexual about her. She's got this primal energy." His eyes glazed for a second and he shivered. "Quick!" he shouted. "Someone pull up an Abercrombie and Fitch ad, stat!"

Rachel rolled her eyes and handed him her phone which he clutched possessively and started tapping out a quick search.

"Sorry for jumping to conclusions, Britt," Rachel apologized again. "I know you're not interested in her like that."

The tall blonde ducked her head, her chin almost hitting her chest and she worried her bottom lip between her teeth.

"Well if she's as sexy as y'all are making her out to be, I'm definitely gonna have to see if she's available for some after hours help," Janelle teased. "Lord knows with all this traveling I could use some the extra attention, if you know what I mean."

Brittany's head jerked up and she narrowed her eyes at the redhead.

"Oh, I do _not_ think you'll be disappointed," Kurt replied, his eyes still trained on the tiny screen in his hands. "She is sex in a wifebeater and sweatpants. Ooh," he said distractedly, "what do you think of this jacket?"

"Give me that," Rachel said, snatching her phone back and stuffing it in her pocket. "While I do agree that Santana is an attractive and fascinating individual, I do not think it prudent to pursue a sexual or otherwise romantic relationship with her. While I do not normally participate in idle-"

"Office gossip, we know, we know. Just get to the point," Kurt chastised.

Rachel harrumphed and crossed her arms over her chest. "Apparently our little ringer is a bit of a … Casanova," she wagged her eyebrows for emphasis.

Brittany scrunched her forehead. "What's that?"

"She's a whore, darlin'," Kurt said in a haughty Southern accent, using his pinky to flick imaginary bangs away.

The blonde stiffened at the accusation, and she straightened up. She took a step forward without realizing it and it was only Rachel butting back in that stopped her from laying hands on the unsuspecting man.

"That's _not_ what I meant." She batted him on the shoulder with the back of her hand. "It's appears that she has a reputation for being a," she leaned in close to the group and whispered, "_player_. Apparently she has a new girl in her bed every night! So you can understand that when you said you slept at Santana's I naturally assumed that you had fallen victim to her many charms."

"No, I don't understand it," Brittany said with irritation. "How do you even know all this? She's been to the office _once_ and she only talked to the two of us. I'm sure she didn't tell you any of this herself." She put her hands on her hips, tapping her foot in annoyance.

"Well, they're just rumors," Rachel's trailed off guiltily.

"That's right. So maybe we should just shut up about it and not talk about something we know nothing about." Brittany crossed her arms again and leveled a pointed stare at the young receptionist.

Sensing the tension, Janelle broke in, trying to lighten the mood. "Well, it doesn't matter to me either way. It's not like I'm interested in anything long term. With the way Sue's got me running after Xavier, I don't have time to start something serious." She looked up towards the parking lot where Quinn seemed to be having an argument with a dark-haired girl with sculpted arms and a killer rack.

"Ooh, is that her?" she asked rhetorically. "You weren't kidding. She's stunning. Love, love the tough-girl look. What's she do when she's not being a ringer?"

Three sets of eyes turned to Brittany who didn't seem to want to meet any of their stares. After an extended silence, she huffed and explained in a bored tone, "she's a roughneck. Thus the shirt." She rolled her eyes as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Wow, that's … so fucking hot," Janelle replied. She licked her lips as her eyes trailed over the roughneck's body once again.

"What are you going to do?" Brittany couldn't stop herself from asking. Her stomach was churning, making her feel a little nauseous.

Janelle grinned. "I think it's time to bust out the Cordray charm and see if she bites. And I hope that that my friends," she smiled cheekily and winked, "is _not_ a euphemism either." She sauntered away, worried blue eyes tracking her every move.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Santana was leaning back against a metal trashcan, puffing idly on her cigarette when she saw Quinn approach. She smiled brightly, pulling the cigarette from her lips and calling out "hey, Q! Just gonna be a second." She waved the cigarette in her hand to clarify.

The roughneck's explanation did not deter the infuriated lawyer's path, however, and Quinn stalked up to her, stepping in close and glaring at the ringer.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asked accusingly.

Santana looked back at her in surprise. She tried to think of anything she might have done recently that would've pissed the blonde off. Coming up empty, she shrugged and took a long drag, turning her head away from Quinn to blow out a smoky breath.

"I give up," she said. "What'd I do this time?"

"This isn't a fucking joke, Santana. These are real people. God! I asked you to do one _fucking_ thing. I can't believe you couldn't keep one _stupid_ promise!"

"Whoa, hold up, Fabray. I didn't break no promise. What the fuck are you talking about?" Santana loved Quinn, but she wasn't about to take an ass-kicking from her if it wasn't warranted. And she was pretty damn sure she didn't deserve this one.

"I'm talking about you and Brittany. You couldn't control yourself this one fucking time? You don't even know anything about her! You can't even begin to understand what you've done. All the damage you caused!"

"Step off, Q," Santana warned, flicking the lit end of her cigarette off and chucking the butt into the trash. She turned fiery, brown eyes on the irate lawyer. "I didn't do jack shit to Brittany."

"She's in your fucking clothes, Lopez. How dumb do you think I am?" Quinn ran shaky hands through her hair. "I know you don't give a shit, but these are my colleagues. My God, how am I supposed to work with her now? She's gonna _hate_ me." She spun around and threw her arms in the air. "These are professional people. They don't roll like you do. This is just fucked up!"

Santana's breathing was heavy, her heart thumping painfully in her chest. She ground her back teeth as Quinn went off. Her neck was hot and she could feel that heat traveling up into her cheeks and across the back of her scalp.

But Quinn wasn't finished and she didn't let up. "You have no idea what you're getting into here. These aren't the girls from the block and you can't just come in here do what you _always_ do and think it's all gonna just work out!"

"Oh fuck you, Fabray," Santana growled. She pushed herself off the trashcan, kicking her foot back against it with a clang. "I may not be all high class or some stupid shit you're all into now, but I ain't stupid. And I don't give a shit about how _professional_ or high society these people are. I know who I am. I don't need you reminding me," she sneered. She reached down to grab her duffel and slung it across her body.

Quinn took a step back at the roughneck's words and piercing glare. "I didn't mean it like that."

"And just so you know," Santana continued, ignoring the lawyer's interruption. "I didn't fuck Brittany and you don't have to worry about me running my blue collar hands all over your precious coworkers. Not only are they not worth my time." Dark, stormy eyes locked onto Quinn and the lawyer flinched at the anger and hurt in them. "I keep my word. You of all people should know that by now."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Santana stalked to the dugout and threw her bag violently against the back wall. Janelle came upon her just as she heaved her bag and decided to keep on walking, figuring that now was not the time get her flirt on with the roughneck.

Brittany watched the redhead make a beeline for Santana before veering away at the last minute, noting the other girl's anger. A part of her was happy to see Janelle walk off, but more than that, she was concerned over what had upset the young woman so. She walked over, ignoring Rachel and Kurt's puzzled glances as she had departed in the middle of Rachel's dramatic retelling of the night her microphone cut out in the middle of "Only You" while performing down in Branson.

Santana reeled back and kicked the defenseless duffel, cursing under her breath. She ripped back the zipper and started tossing out mitts and bats and a weathered pair of cleats. Once she had everything out, she turned and sat back heavily on the dusty, worn bench lining the back wall of the dugout and closed her eyes.

"Hey, San. You okay?" Brittany's soft voice wafted down over the roughneck, and Santana could swear she felt it settle on her shoulders and soothe her frayed nerves. She rubbed the heel of her palm against her breastbone, her eyes still closed. It felt like Quinn had punched her in the chest and her heart continued to hammer wildly.

Brittany took the seat next to Santana, worry clouding her eyes. She reached out tentatively and ran her hand across Santana's shoulders. "What happened?" she asked softly.

Chocolate brown eyes fluttered open and finally met hers. The roughneck exhaled slowly, blowing the breath out through her lips and hunching her shoulders. She rolled her head to the side, the softness in Brittany's gaze intensifying the ache in her chest.

"Nothing. It's nothing." Santana reached over and patted the blonde's knee reassuringly but turning away, unable to hold the girl's kind stare.

Brittany bit her lip. She knew something had happened between the car and the dugout, but she didn't want to press the roughneck if she wasn't ready. "I really like your shirt," she said, gesturing to her chest.

The roughneck glanced at the lawyer's clothes and finally noticed what she had given her. "Oh yea?" she asked, chuckling at the suggestive language.

"Uh-huh." She nodded. "It makes me feel badass."

Santana couldn't stop the smile from stretching across her face. "Badass Brittany, huh?" She leaned forward and placed her elbows on her knees, turning her head to share a smile with the beautiful blonde.

"You know it!" Brittany bumped her shoulder against the roughneck's. "Speaking of badasses, when are we getting together to watch that _Xena_ episode?"

"You really want to do that?"

"Of course! Trust me, you're gonna need someone to lean on after that."

Santana's rich, throaty laughter filled the dugout. "We can do it tomorrow if you like?" she suggested with a happy smile and a shrug. But her forehead soon scrunched in confusion as the gleeful look fell from the blonde's face and she seemed unable to meet the roughneck's eyes. Santana's stomach tightened with nerves, anticipating the Brittany's rejection.

"Um, I can't this week," Brittany said, reluctance and what sounded like regret lacing her voice. She wrung her hands together, squeezing her fingers until they turned a stark white with blotchy, bright red patches. "How 'bout next Sunday?" She wanted to sound casual and hopeful, but she still couldn't bring herself to look at the young woman.

"Yea, yea, whatever," Santana dismissed quickly, kicking her legs out and crossing her ankles. Quinn had stirred up a bunch of her insecurities and she didn't know where she stood with these people anymore. Brittany's hesitation only reinforced the idea that she really didn't belong with them. "No big deal," she deflected, pushing off the dugout wall and picking herself off the bench. "I better get started."

"Wait," Brittany called out softly, wrapping her fingers around the roughneck's wrist. Her bright blue eyes finally flicked up to take in Santana's stiff back and square shoulders. For a moment, she let herself admire the muscled contours of her back. She stood, bringing her long body close behind the ringer, slipping her hand from the dark girl's wrist to clasp her calloused hand.

"I really do want to watch it with you. I just can't this week. I really want to." Her voice trailed off into a pleading whisper. Hopeful blue eyes watched those strong shoulders slump and the woman's body relax against her chest.

Santana exhaled slowly. The heat of Brittany's fingers laced with her own and the softness of her breasts on her back eased the tension in her body. The roughneck swung her head around to meet the blonde's nervous gaze. She allowed a small grin to pull at the corners of her lips. "Yea, next Sunday's cool." She ran a hand against the back of her neck and laughed self-consciously. Quinn's words were still ringing in her ear, leaving her feeling apprehensive and unsettled. "It'll probably take that long for me to find the damn VCR anyway," she tried to joke away her nerves.

Brittany released the roughneck's hand and let out a slow, relieved breath. She tucked her arms behind her back, clasped her palms together and started rocking back and forth—heel to toe, heel to toe. "We really gonna watch it on tape?" she asked, smiling shyly at how cute the seemingly rough-and-tumble brunette could be.

"Totally," Santana said, finally gracing Brittany with a full, genuine smile that reached all the way up to her eyes. "It's how I watched every other episode the first time through, and it's how I'm gonna finally finish the fucking series." Her voice was resolute but the playful twinkle in her eye made Brittany's knees weak and her pulse race.

"Hey! Miami Sound Machine, good to see you made it," Sue bellowed, startling the two women. They turned to face the front of the dugout and spotted the imposing figure of one Sue Sylvester.

"Is she talking to me?" Santana asked in a whisper. Brittany rolled her eyes and nodded.

"I was afraid you would ditch to attend Castro's luncheon." She waved a small, rectangular invitation in front of them. "But I too felt training for this year's tournament took precedence. It's a shame really," she continued. "The good General could use the support at the moment. But I like the commitment, from you Pepe. That's exactly the kind of drive we're looking for at _Sylvester, Bieste, and Schuester_."

The roughneck furrowed her brow and looked to Brittany for clarification, but the tall lawyer only shrugged her shoulders and gave her an equally perplexed look.

"Come on. I want you and Wheels to go over the roster and delegate positions. He's got the intel on our upcoming game and the stats from last year. After today's practice, I expect the two of you to have a tentative line-up for Saturday and a list of who needs extra practice at what positions." With that, Sue turned on her heel and took long, deliberate steps towards a thin, bespectacled man with a stack of papers in his laps, his wheelchair parked on the smooth, swept dirt behind home plate.

Santana sighed and gave Brittany a half-smile before trudging off after the peculiar attorney.

The tall lawyer wrapped her arms around herself and hugged firmly. She didn't like watching the roughneck walk away, even if it was just for a minute and even if the view was spectacular. Her tummy flipped and she squeezed herself tighter. Troubled blue eyes followed the voluptuous curves of the girl as she sashayed away and Brittany sighed before finally closing her eyes to block out the enticing sight.

It should have surprised her how much she hated denying the woman anything; she only just met the girl after all. But in that moment, all Brittany could think about was how Santana's eyes had dulled with disappointment and how the forlorn look made her chest ache. She knew then that she never wanted to be the source of sadness in the girl again. She just wasn't sure what she could do to avoid it.

Her nostrils flared as she released a powerful breath. She wasn't sure what she was doing. Everything about the roughneck was enchanting and beautiful and overwhelming. When she was near Santana, she couldn't think, couldn't breathe. She felt out of control in the most thrilling and terrifying way.

Brittany wasn't sure she could stop herself when it came to the dark-haired beauty. Worse yet, she wasn't sure she wanted to.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Quinn had spent the better part of practice trying to get Santana alone so that they could clear things up, but the stubborn girl had been avoiding her the whole afternoon. While she worked closely with a variety of people, going through basic softball drills and even teaching a few how to work a baseball mitt properly, she'd never once turned Quinn's way except to bark out directions from afar.

Even now, as the majority of the team had clustered around the bleachers set outside the field, enjoying a much-needed but all too rare water break, she had squirreled herself away with Sue and Artie near the dugout. Quinn chuckled a little to herself. The roughneck had to be some kind of pissed at her if she was actually choosing to spend additional time with the mismatched pair.

The frustrated lawyer rolled her eyes and huffed at herself. This was all just a big misunderstanding. She sighed regretfully. Okay, so _maybe_ she'd overreacted and ended up simultaneously shoving her foot in her mouth and up Santana's ass. She scrunched her face up at the disturbing image.

Quinn sincerely regretted berating the roughneck without knowing what actually went down. She was just scared; scared of what Santana might do to her career, to her friendships, to her ability to provide for her mother and all of the people she loved. And she was scared about what those fears suggested about who she'd become.

But her concerns weren't all selfish. Quinn was worried about Santana and what could happen to her too. The resilient attorney knew what it took to be part of this social scene. Law school had educated and hardened her in more ways than one. She had never seen such competitiveness and exploitation before. These people wielded money and influence like master craftsmen wielded jigsaws and lathes, and they didn't pull any punches to get ahead. Among the many things she learned in that time, one of the most salient and persistent was that everything was for sale and everyone had a price.

As bad as it sounded, Santana didn't belong in this world run on old money, power, and privilege, where retribution was far more elaborate and sinister than a slap in the face or a ruined ride. Quinn knew that for all her bravado and confidence, Santana was a decent, loyal person who laid it out straight and expected others to do the same. These people would eat her alive.

Quinn kicked a nearby cooler and sunk onto a low, metal bleacher. She leaned forward and hung her head, supporting her upper body on her forearms braced against her thighs.

Of course Quinn didn't think Brittany was like that at all. The cheerful blonde was as guileless and genuine as they came, but that didn't mean she still couldn't end up hurting the roughneck. Unlike Quinn and Santana, Brittany had white collar roots, and a sensibility and a history with the world born from those roots. Quinn loved her to death, but Santana was like a sister and no one was going to take advantage of her if she could prevent it.

She knew everything had come out wrong and she had ended up offending her friend because of her fears. She just needed to corral the stubborn roughneck long enough to hear her out.

"Hey, Q." Brittany's soft voice pulled her out of her reverie and she glanced up into bright blue eyes.

"Hey, B," she returned the greeting half-heartedly.

"Everything okay?" The tall blonde slid in next to her and mimicked her hunched position.

Quinn gave her a tight-lipped smile. "Yea." She tipped her head to the side and peeked a bright hazel eye at Brittany. "Sorry about storming off earlier."

"What happened?" Concern and curiosity was woven through in her voice.

"I don't know. Just a misunderstanding," Quinn sighed.

"'Bout what?" Brittany asked, unrelenting in her desire to understand what was going on. She felt like she was an integral part of what had upset both women, but she didn't know how or why.

"It's nothing, Britt. But I think I royally pissed Santana off."

"Then it's not nothing," Brittany said simply. She reached over and snagged a bottle of water from the cooler by her feet, pointing the top at Quinn in silent offering. When Quinn shook her head, she twisted the cap off and took a slow sip. She licked her lips to clear away the stray drops and looked up, catching sight of Santana making her way to the parking lot. The roughneck leaned back against a dented trashcan and brought a cigarette to her plump lips. Brittany could feel her mind start to wander and she forced herself to pull her eyes off the roughneck and focus on her friend. "Did you think I slept with Santana," she asked quietly.

Quinn straightened in her seat and nodded, refusing to meet those innocent blue eyes.

"Why'd it bother you so much?"

"_B_," Quinn whined, rolling her eyes in exasperation, as if the source of her irritation should have been completely obvious.

Brittany blew out a tense breath. "I'm a big girl, Q. I can make my own decisions and Santana's not the one you should've been mad at either way." Anger, seemingly so foreign to the easy-going blonde, edged her voice and caused her eyes to spark in an entirely different way than usual.

Quinn was captivated, she might have even thought it beautiful had it not scared the crap out of her so. She grabbed the water bottle out of Brittany's hand, desperate for something to soothe her suddenly dry throat.

"I know, I know," she said, pausing to take a couple of cooling, moistening sips. "It's just …." She shook her head and sighed. "I don't know if you know what you're getting into with Santana." She looked over and sought out Brittany's baby blues. "And I don't know if she knows what she's getting into with you." Quinn caught the tremor shaking through the tall blonde's body. "I don't wanna see anyone get hurt or … or make bad choices."

Brittany's shoulders tensed and she turned away. "I can take care of myself," she repeated, swinging her gaze back to the parking lot and settling on the lounging roughneck almost on instinct.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Santana had no idea how she ended up at the _SBS _offices the following day. She'd barely had any time to herself since agreeing to this little psychotic episode and yet there she was, dressed casually in a striped blue and white sweater and khaki pants (no need to pull out the designer digs Brittany bought her when the office was essentially closed for the day), and staring up at the now familiar grey-black building.

With Brittany postponing their Xena-fest, the roughneck figured she'd be productive and start logging some hours so she'd be set for next Saturday's game. Unfortunately, that meant she had to spend her day with-

"Santana!"

A high, perfectly pitched squeal broke the roughneck from her thoughts, and she turned toward the entrance, spotting little Rachel Berry peeking her head between the immense double doors and waving energetically, as if Santana was a mile and a half away instead of a mere ten feet.

The roughneck shook her head in half-bemusement half-irritation and joined the exuberant office manager, holding one of the heavy doors open and following the young woman in.

Rachel chattered nonstop from the moment her warm hand wrapped around the ringer's and she tugged her forward, through the serpentine corridors and short elevator trips before finally stopping at a set of clear, glass doors.

Santana could make out large, mahogany bookcases filled neatly with thick, uniform clusters of identically bound book-backs. She whistled long and low.

"Very impressive, Raquel," she said, stepping across the threshold and spinning slowly, her head tipped up and back as she took in the enormous space. There were stacks of books, organized to into mini-passageways, just like Santana used to see at the local library when she was a kid. She even caught sight of those weird metal step-stools she used roll around on when she was little and her mother was checking out books to read to her and her primas.

"It's Rachel," she heard called out behind her and she lowered her head to the boundlessly energetic receptionist.

"Well, very impressive, Rachel," she said with a smirk and a wink, causing the young woman to flush uncharacteristically.

"Yes, well," Rachel started, clutching a large set of thick file folders to her chest, "let me explain what we're doing today." She laid out the materials on a large conference table and opened the first file, pulling out a packet of papers clipped together. They settled into two high-backed leather chairs, Rachel at the head of the table and Santana to her right.

"We need to go through these case files and pull the relevant case data so that the lawyers can construct their arguments. So we're basically looking for precedence. In most situations, the lawyer assigned to the case will have a list of prior cases he," Rachel smiled warmly at Santana, "or _she _wants us to pull."

The receptionist licked her thumb and swiped it against the top sheet of one of the open files. Santana scanned the sheet, following some of the basic info—Smythe vs West Virginia—but crinkling her brow at the strange codes with symbols she didn't recognize and combinations of letters and numbers she couldn't comprehend.

"_But_," Rachel continued, forcing Santana's eyes from the foreign writing back to the energetic brunette, "there are those who simply give us the case they're working on and expect the intern or paralegal to identify relevant cases to start with."

It was all a bit overwhelming, and Santana scanned all of the paperwork around her. "So where do I fit into all of this?"

"A bit unglamorously I'm afraid." At the roughneck's raised eyebrow she chuckled and continued. "You're going to find the cases using these codes," she pointed at the unusual markers, "make copies, and then stack them here for me to go over."

Santana glanced around the room and saw three complicated-looking copy machines tucked around the room. "O-kay," she drawled. "How does this all work?"

Rachel spent the next few minutes explaining how to find the cases and how to work the copier, doing the first set herself before letting the roughneck try it out.

Santana's nose crinkled and she squinted to read the numbers on the spines of the books. _Definitely should have worn my glasses_, she mused as she pulled one of the thick volumes down and brought it over to the copier.

After about the fifth or sixth case, Santana was ready to dropkick the fucking copying machine. This was so fucking boring. Find the right book, locate the case, place the book face down on the copier, push the button, turn the page, fit it on the copier, push the button, turn the page, fit it on the copier, push the button. _Argh!_ "Doesn't this shit exist online or something?" she blurted after pushing the friggin' button for the millionth time.

Rachel looked up, startled by the sudden outburst. Santana's constant Xeroxing was actually quite calming and she found it provided a comforting white noise that allowed her to get lost in her work. She smiled and chuckled at the frustrated look on the ringer's face, knowing exactly what she was feeling at that moment.

"I know. It is a tedious process. And while much if not all of this has been digitized, Sue insists we do things just as _she's_ always done them since starting her law education."

Santana snorted. "When was that, the 1800s?"

Rachel giggled and sat back, stretching her arms out and scrunching her hands into fists to get the blood circulating. "I have to admit, it is a bit archaic. But there's also something quite romantic about being surrounded by all of this history. Can you imagine," she said excitedly, her eyes twinkling. "This is the history of our country, of who we are as a people. They capture everything from minor squabbles between neighbors to historic battles that have formed the very fabric of our democracy and affect all aspects of our lives! It's all right here!" She spread her arms out wide and gave the roughneck a toothy, awed smile.

Santana couldn't help but be a little charmed by the office manager's enthusiasm. She turned around and leaned back on the copier, crossing her arms over her chest and sweeping her eyes over the vast array of legal books and seeing them in a new light.

"Why don't you take a break from that and come help me here," Rachel said, patting the seat next to her. Once the roughneck was seated, Rachel slid a stack of papers between them so they could both see the material. "Okay, so first off, this isn't really allowed so you can't mention to anyone, particularly Sue, that I let you do this." At Santana's nod, she continued. "Okay, so this is a case one of the lawyers is currently working on. Before we can do anything, we need to understand the basic facts of the situation. _Sylvester, Bieste, and Schuester_ is a general practice law firm, meaning it covers all kinds of law, including litigation, transactional, and criminal. So the kinds of cases we're going to go over vary immensely. This one," she tapped the papers between them, "is a fairly simply dispute. Our client, a rather eccentric old millionaire, is fighting diminished capacity claims by her nieces and nephews. Do you know what that is?"

"Greedy bastards trying to swipe the old lady's money by making her seem senile," Santana said with a shrug.

Rachel sat back in astonishment. She'd assumed it would take a fair bit of time and explanation to get the roughneck up to speed, but she seemed to have distilled the essence of the case fairly quickly.

"That's … that's very good Santana. I'm really impressed. But it is a little trickier than that." Santana just rolled her eyes, and Rachel rushed on to explain some of the finer details before she said something else that would offend the girl. After laying everything out for her, she then went on to explain her very intricate coding system. She had pink, green, yellow, and blue highlighters and equally colorful stickers to flag particular kinds of information and that corresponded to the highlighting.

When she was finally finished, Santana looked a bit flushed and a little nauseous. "It's a lot to take in, I know," Rachel conceded, patting the girl's forearm reassuringly. "For now, why don't you take care of the yellow and work on these prior cases," she said, sliding the materials over, "and I'll do the rest and then we'll swap and I can take go over what you did and make sure you didn't miss anything."

Santana grabbed the marker and sticky tabs hesitantly.

"Don't worry. You can't mess this up. I'll look over it before sending it out. Just try and see if you like it."

She took a deep breath and pulled the first case over to look for applicable precedence. It took her several readings to get a good feel for the language of the text. It wasn't exactly what she'd call straight-forward or clear. Meaning seemed to be buried in obscure and overly wrought language and she had to sift through the dense mire in order to find anything that made sense. After going over a single section multiple times, and finally breaking down and asking Rachel when she just couldn't make decipher the damn thing, she finally started getting the hang of the legalese. Santana loved puzzles—it was part of her inner geek—and the complex, arcane language was just another puzzle she needed to work out.

And the more she read, the easier and more fascinating things became. After making it through two prior cases, Santana threw her highlighter on the table and stretched her back.

"Shall we take a break?" Rachel asked, setting her own marker aside with much less fanfare.

"Totally," she readily agreed.

They made their way to the common room and grabbed some beverages before taking seats on a couch.

"So what do you think of it all," Rachel asked.

The roughneck swallowed the juice in her mouth and ran the back of her hand across her lips. "It's interesting. Way more complicated than it needs to be, but interesting nonetheless." She gave Rachel a small smile. "What I don't get though," she continued, "is why we or _you_ are the one doing all this. Shouldn't the lawyer be the one going through all this stuff and putting the case together?"

"Oh Santana," Rachel sighed, "let me share a little secret of the industry with you. Once you pass the bar and get acquired by a major firm, your days of endless research and countless paper cuts and dust mite allergies and burgeoning coffee addictions are things of the past. _We_ do all of the real work. Sometimes I wonder the clients would think if they knew they were paying $500 dollars an hour for some law student to put their case together. I mean some of the associates are better than others. But by and large, they're a lazy bunch. They're paid to be good talkers and," her eyes lit up, "performers, and it's the novices and pre-bar staff that do all of the important work."

"Why do you put up with it? Doing all the work and getting none of the credit. And I bet you don't get paid nearly as well as them either."

Rachel shrugged. "That's just how things are. Until I pass the bar, I don't really have a lot of say in how things are run. But I can assure you that as soon as I make senior partner," she slapped her hand against the table and raised her arm in the air, "a change is gonna come! I'm sure you're familiar with the great Sam Cooke song," and before Santana could get a word in, the young ingénue burst into song, stunning the roughneck into silence. "I was _born_ by the river in a little tent / And just like the river, I've been running ever since / It's been a long time coming / But I know a change is gonna come-"

"Okay, okay, Loretta. Let's come back from Crazytown for a second," Santana joked, tugging on Rachel's arm and bringing her attention back from wherever she had wandered. Once perky little cheeks raised up in a happy grin, the roughneck laughed. "You really are a crackpot, you know that right?"

The two young women shared a laugh before taking their drinks back to the library. After going over Santana's work, Rachel was surprised by how well the roughneck did. She had flagged all the things Rachel would have and even pegged a few places she didn't think was relevant until the ringer explained her rationale, and she was surprised by the astute linkages the young woman drew.

For the rest of the day, they worked on cases (well, one other case as it still took Santana a fair bit of time to work through the language), ordered in lunch, chatted about music and musicals (well, Rachel lectured Santana on the essential, can't continue living without having seen, you should be thoroughly ashamed at having such a poor sense of culture, musicals that the roughneck absolutely had to see), and by the time Santana looked at the clock, it was nearing five o'clock.

"Alright Veruca, I'm about spent," Santana said, bringing her fingers to her eyes and pressing till little tears pressed out through the sides.

"_Santana_," Rachel whined with a little huff at the end. "You're not even trying now."

The roughneck chuckled at the office manager's indignation. "Okay, okay," she raised her hands in surrender, "_Rachel._" She smiled winningly at the petit brunette, "I'm beat. We log enough hours for today?"

Rachel glanced at her watch. "Hm, I think six hours is satisfactory for a first day, especially on Sunday."

"Cool," she replied, helping Rachel organize the materials and lock them away in a secure file cabinet.

"So, um, Santana, do you have plans for the evening?" the receptionist asked shyly.

"You could say that," she smirked. Meeting big, curious brown eyes, she continued. "Just gonna meet some friends and get our drink on. Hopefully find a pretty, young thing to take home." She winked cheekily, making the young receptionist blush.

"Oh, well, that sounds nice. I mean the going out for drinks part, not the pretty young thing part."

Santana turned and leaned back against the file cabinet, crossing her arms over her chest. Her lips quirked up in a half-grin. "'Sup, Rach? You wanna join?"

"Oh well, I couldn't. I mean I wouldn't want to intrude…" she trailed off, batting her eyes innocently at the roughneck.

Santana threw her head back and laughed at the young woman's attempt to play her. "It's just a couple of us drinking at a bar. It's not like this is written invitation stuff. Come with if you like, but if you mess up my game with the ladies," she paused dramatically and narrowed her eyes, making Rachel swallow nervously, "well, just know I intend on having _some_ soft body under me tonight." She winked and turned on her heel, walking briskly away from the sputtering starlet who had to jog quickly to catch up.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Rachel drove them down to Joe Jack's directly from the office. Once Santana hopped in, she barked out the rather straightforward directions and strapped herself in. Unlike the heavy-hitters at _SBS_, the young office manager drove a reliable but simple 2007 Honda Civic. While it was nice and certainly better than most of the cars Santana's friends drove, it didn't have all the bells and whistles of Brittany's Lexus and Rachel wouldn't even let her work the radio. The roughneck leaned her head back against the headrest and found her mind wandering as she watched the blurred landscape whizz by.

The little receptionist had the weirdest taste in music, and Santana tried her best to tune out both the sound of Liza Minnelli blaring through the speaker system and Rachel's running commentary/vocal accompaniment.

She looked out into the darkening night, watching layers of blues and purples fading into midnight black. She didn't know what it was exactly—the still baby blue sky closest to the horizon that seemed to shift and spark with the slowly evaporating light; the inky blackness creeping in that replicated the starless night after batting practice where she gazed up through an open sunroof—but for whatever reason, Santana's mind kept projecting images of a tall, leggy blonde dancing across her window.

She wondered what the beautiful blonde was up to—whether she was having a good time or whether it was some stodgy obligation she wished she could avoid. Santana remembered the way Brittany had turned her eyes away and fidgeted with her limbs. The attorney seemed uncomfortable with the roughneck, something Santana hadn't experienced with her before. She was shy, yes. Bashful and maybe a little awkward, sure. But she hadn't seemed distant or evasive before. Santana wondered whether she'd done something to offend the woman or if she'd misread casual kindness for a genuine interest in developing a friendship.

The roughneck knew how to flirt and woo and get a girl into bed. She didn't really know how to make friends, particularly with a gorgeous, professional, highly-educated woman who had legs for days and a smile that made her heart flutter.

Now, she couldn't help but wonder if the last few days were just figments of her imagination. Maybe Brittany was just being polite and it was her own subconscious desire for companionship that led her to read more into the situation than had actually been there.

Santana shook her head and leaned over to rest her forehead on the cool glass on her window.

But why would Brittany continue to press for time with her? No one could be that big of a Xena-phile that they'd volunteer to watch the finale with someone they only just tolerated.

It was all just so confusing. And the most confusing thing of all was why Santana cared so fucking much in the first place.

"And all—that—jazz!" Rachel crooned with a flourish, tapping the last few beats out on the steering wheel. She pulled into the dirt lot that served as parking for JJ's and cut the engine. "That was fun!" she piped up, turning to Santana and giving her a toothy smile.

"Yea," Santana agreed distractedly. "Let's hit it Rhoda." The office manager rolled her eyes and hurried after her.

The bar was thumping and Rachel clung to Santana's arm as the roughneck led them through the thick crowd. Santana slapped a few acquaintances on the shoulder and fist-bumped others. Rachel couldn't help but be awed and impressed by the ringer's swagger and popularity. She was definitely in her element and the way she seemed to own the place and the people in it only added to the mystique and aura of the girl.

Santana wrapped her hand around Rachel's and tugged her forward. She spotted Puck, Finn, and Mike and cocked her chin up to acknowledge her boys.

"'Sup, Lopez, long time no see," Puck greeted. "And what ya got there?" he asked, nodding towards Rachel and wagging his eyebrows suggestively.

"Back it up, Puckerman. She's with me. Show some fucking respect," Santana warned, pulling out a chair for Rachel and taking the seat next to her. "It's been a long-ass day and I ain't in the mood for any of your bullshit. Got it?" she said, throwing him a glare and leaning back, stretching an arm over the back of Rachel's chair, implicitly claiming and protecting the young receptionist.

"Hey, just being friendly, Lopez. Chill out. We ain't seen you out in a dog's age and now you're here with this lovely, lovely little Jewess on your arm. Fuck yeah I'm interested. So, introduce her already."

Santana shook her head and laughed. She'd missed this downtime with the boys and their harmless teasing. "Boys, this is the multitalented, get-her-done, former Branson superstar, Rachel … I'm sorry I can't remember your last name. Beerpong, maybe?"

Rachel blushed at the complimentary introduction and Santana's attempt to make her feel included. "It's Berry."

"What?" Santana asked, turning puzzled eyes on her.

"Rachel _Berry_," she asserted, despite the butterflies fluttering in her belly from the unfamiliar eyes on her. She reached her hand out to Mike who was seated next to her. "Pleased to meet you all."

"Okay, Berry. Nice," Santana winked at her. "These obnoxious miscreants are part of my work crew. The 80s reject with the squirrel on his head is Puck. Gigantor over there is Finn. And Asian Sensation here is Mike." They nodded politely, Puck giving her a trademark smirk and Mike shaking the hand presented him.

"Rach here has been helping me out with some … extracurriculars," she said cheekily.

"Is that for that softball thing you got going on?" Mike asked.

At Santana's nod, Puck jumped in. "Damn, Lopez. They need a designated hitter? You know the old Puckeroo has a lot of experience running the bases, _if_ you get my drift." He flashed Rachel a sleazy grin.

Santana scoffed. "A hard of hearing blind man can get your drift Puckerman. Subtle, you ain't," she joked, waving a waitress over. "So what's your poison, Rach?"

"Oh, um, I'm not a real big drinker. And I do have to drive, so, um, a Shirley Temple, maybe."

"Oh _hell_ no," Puck interjected. "There's no way someone from this table is ordering a Shirley fucking Temple. You can leave your car here, babe. We'll call you a cab." Seeing the skeptical look on her face, he continued, "no worries. We do it all the time. Come on, live a little!"

The waitress sidled up to Santana, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Hey, Santana. Where you been? The girls have missed you," she pouted exaggeratedly.

"I bet," Santana said, smiling back. "Got a bit extra on my plate right now, Vic."

Vicky Jackson looked around the roughneck and spotted Rachel. "I'll say," she teased, eyeing the young receptionist critically.

"Well, I intend to rectify things real quick. Can't leave you with this crew too many nights without supervision."

"Well thank goodness for that! They're a handful and a half without you here."

"Hey, I resemble that remark," Puck butted in with mock indignation. He desperately wanted in Vicky's pants but after two weeks of his best moves, she still hadn't bit.

The waitress only grinned and turned her attention back to Santana. "So what'll it be beautiful. The usual?"

"Yea. Let's do a full round and a round of shots." She looked over to Rachel. "First round's on me, Rach. Get whatever ya want."

"Oh, well, um. Do you have any wine coolers, perhaps?"

The waitress smirked. "I think we can rustle something up for you, sweetheart. You want a shot too?"

"Yea," Santana answered for her, "she does," she finished, winking at the blushing office manager.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

"What about her?" Rachel slurred slightly, gesturing to a short, curvy brunette in tight jeans and an even tighter halter, the girl's breasts almost spilling out of the small top.

Santana cocked her head to the side and ran her eyes up and down the woman's body casually. "She'd definitely be into it, but you're gonna be the one putting in all the work." She tipped her beer back and finished it off. "Total dead fish in the sack."

They'd been stationed at their little table in JJ's for the better part of three hours, the constant drinking broken up only by a quick game of darts and a round of pool. The boys decided to keep up with the pool, leaving the two women to get their drink on on their own.

Three wine coolers and two shots of SoCo into the night, Rachel had gotten it into her head that she wanted to experience the pleasures of the Sapphic arts just once before she died. Seeing Santana flirt with and flatter the various ladies that came her way had ignited a curiosity in her. And the more she drank, the more her body tingled and the more appealing the entire venture became.

Watching the eager receptionist drool over any piece of tail that passed by amused the roughneck to no end. She wouldn't let Rachel get into something she couldn't handle, but she didn't see the harm in playing along for now.

Santana waved Vicky over, and the waitress sauntered up and asked flirtatiously, "'nother round, Sweetcheeks?"

Santana nodded and wrapped her arm around the girl's waist. "What do you think of that one, Vic?" she pointed out the girl Rachel was still ogling.

"For who? You or the Munchkin?" she asked playfully.

"The little one," Santana affirmed. "It'd be her first time."

"Ooh, definitely not. Neither one of 'em would know what they were doing and that's a lotta tits for this one to handle." The roughneck snickered. "She'd be better off with someone seasoned and just looking for a good time."

"You offering?" Santana joshed, smiling up at the buxom waitress.

"Oh my God! Is that a karaoke machine?" Rachel shouted out of the blue, interrupting before Vicky could reply. "We gotta sing something. This is like divine intervention. I'll woo her with my talent and my sweet, sensuous voice. She'll be putty in my hands! Come on, come on, come on!" she cried out, pulling on Santana's arm to get to the karaoke station and the thick, plastic binders cataloging JJ's song selection. "This is just perfect. It's kismet. It's fate. It's destiny!" She gasped. Comically wide eyes turned on Santana and the roughneck had to bite her cheek to keep from laughing. "What if this is the start to some epic love affair full of angst and unrequited love and a driven ingénue chasing after her dreams, forced to sacrifice love for career and leaving behind a broken, miserable shell of a girl in her wake."

"Alright, calm down chica. None of that's gonna happen. First rule of hooking up: no getting attached. This gotta be a one-off thing. Trust me. You get in, you get out." She turned and made the office manager look her in the eye. "No double-dipping. You can do it as much as you want while you're there, but as soon as you separate, it's gotta be over. Comprende?"

Foggy brown eyes struggled to focus and before Santana knew what was happening Rachel pressed her lips against the plush softness of the roughneck's.

Startled, Santana pushed the young girl back and laughed. "What are you doing, Rach?" She smiled at the glassy look in her eyes and her still puckered lips.

"Mm," Rachel hummed, eyes glued to Santana's full bottom lip. "That was … that was amazing."

"Okay, Martina," she smiled, "don't go getting ahead of yourself. I thought you wanted to sing something?"

"Oh! Oh yes! What should we do? Considering the venue, I think something country would be appropriate. Unfortunately, I do not possess the rich genre knowledge I'm sure you do and don't quite know where to begin." She flipped through a couple of pages.

"Well, what are we going for here? Sexy? Flirty? Coy? Sentimental and sweet?"

Rachel closed her eyes and scrunched her face up in thought. "Um. Flirty?" she asked

"Alright. Let's bust some old school Dolly up in this place," she teased in a faux-ghetto drawl.

They handed Vicky their song selection and waited for her to kill the radio and load the machine. Rachel sucked on a lemon and kicked her heels back and forth as she sat on the tall stool behind the microphone. Santana sat beside her, chuckling at the small girl's antics. Soon enough, the music started and she started off the upbeat tune, letting Rachel get a feel for the melody and tempo of the song.

_Why'd you come in here lookin' like that  
>In your cowboy boots and your painted-on jeans<br>All decked out like a cowgirl's dream  
>Why'd you come in here looking like that<em>

Rachel grinned at the sound of Santana's deep, raspy voice, surprised by its depth and richness. She was delighted by the girl's talent. When you were someone as seasoned and exceptional as Rachel Berry, it was easy to appreciate the skill of another, especially when you knew full well you were better. She sat back and readied herself for the next chorus that she'd share with Santana.

_Why'd you come in here lookin' like that  
>In your high heeled boots and your painted-on jeans<br>All decked out like a cowgirl's dream  
>Waltzing right in here lookin' like that<br>Why'd you come in here lookin' like that  
>When you could stop traffic in a gunney sack<br>Why you're almost givin' me a heart attack  
>When you waltz right in here lookin' like that<em>

They finished the song out to the boisterous cheers and wolf-whistles from the bar patrons, and Rachel soaked in like a sponge. She stood and curtsied, and Santana clapped along with the crowd. The feisty receptionist had guts, taking on a song she barely knew and knocking it outta the fucking park like that.

In the end, Rachel got too smashed to hook up with anyone and Santana took pity on the tiny girl and decided to get her out of there before she passed out or worse, aka going home with Puck. She shuffled the girl into a cab and after several attempts to get her address out of her, Santana decided to just bring the office manager home with her. _Quinn's gonna fucking love this_, she thought humorlessly, turning to see Rachel asleep on her shoulder, her mouth hanging open and a thin line of drool snaking out from the corner of her mouth and collected on the edge of Santana's sweater. The roughneck couldn't help but smile at the sight.

She didn't know what she was getting into with this new crew. And that made her nervous.

But looking down onto the open, innocent face of the little receptionist, she didn't see social class or division or attitude. They were just Rachel and Santana. And in that moment, she didn't give a fuck what anyone else thought. It didn't even cross her mind that this would be the sixth night in a row she'd be flying solo.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Oh my gosh! I am so, so sorry for the long wait. Thank you so much for your patience and for sticking it out! I hope this super long chapter makes up for it and that you had fun along the way. Sorry for the relative lack of Brittana in this chapter. It's not going to be a fully smooth ride for our favorite ladies, but hopefully it's an entertaining one. Your reviews have just blown me away. If you have a chance, I'd love to hear from you and I do take your suggestions into consideration. You all are the best and I am so appreciative!**


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